


For You, I'll Cross the Sea

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [62]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bunniverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beginning of the First Age; Doriath. Thranduil, after having crossed the sea from Valinor, finds himself bored with Middle-earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since coming across the sea, Thranduil had found little to do with his time. Though he had originally hoped in the back of his mind for some great adventure, he found himself succumbing to the tedious life in Doriath more often than he would have liked. It was for this reason that he would sneak outside the confines of the protected realm and into the uncharted forests that lay just beyond Melian’s shield.

It was here, and here alone, that he felt his heart lift as it had once soared in Valinor. In Valinor, where flowers bloomed not once but every day, and trees were ever-green. He missed the constant laughter, the harmonious light. Most of all, he missed his two best friends – though, he would admit to no one that the silver-blonde maiden who would wrestle him to the ground and declare herself queen of the trees and the dark-haired elf who smiled constantly and showed little remorse for blaming his errors on his younger and fairer friend were the two elves he missed the most in all of Arda.

“Ecthelion and Artanis, why ever did you stray?” he asked aloud as he wandered through the trees. “How was it that the land that bore you came to bore you?”

There was a rustle in the leaves which caught Thranduil’s attention, and though he might have passed it off as the wind, he caught within the branches a pair of bright eyes watching him. They were gone in an instant, but his curiosity won over his caution, and soon he was in the tree himself, looking to track whatever had spied him. “I have seen you,” he called out in a clear voice. “I have a troop of archers at the ready,” he lied. “Reveal yourself!”

There was no noise at first, but then he picked up the faint sound of someone panting, and the smell of fear. Likely, he had little to fear himself, and at first the thought came that perhaps he had encountered some creature of the forest. There was a feeling, though, that this was not some rogue animal wandering the swaying branches. This was an elf, but friend or foe he could not tell and so he pursued in the direction of the sounds.

Four trees from the first one he climbed, he could feel the presence of another and turned to see the bright eyes once more. They indeed did belong to an elf – a tangled looking thing, poorly dressed in rags and marked with scars and fading bruises. Unclean and unkempt, with dark matted hair clinging together, obscuring a smudged face. But the ears and the eyes gave away what was hidden beneath the dirt and the grime. The body gave away something else – this was not only an elf, but an elleth.

Thranduil’s surprised look was wiped from his face as he shook his head. First things first, this poor thing had been attacked, or so it seemed. He introduced himself and then offered to take her back to Doriath. Leaning foward, he reached out a hand to guide her down from the tree. Once again he was shocked, for she reared up and hissed at him.

"Or, not," he said quickly, drawing his hand back. The elleth looked as if she might bolt, and so he sat back and placed his hands onto the branch in the most passive stance he could possibly take while still keeping his balance. The she-elf eyed him warily, sniffing at the air with great suspicion.

Unsure of what else to do, Thranduil began to sing. He did not intend to simply leave this elleth, no matter how bizarre her behavior. At the same time, he did not wish to lose any fingers. His voice was soft, singing a lullaby that was common to the Eldar. His words, however, appeared to confuse her, but even music can tame the wild soul, and the elleth listened and lowered herself into a more comfortable position in the branches.

When his throat began to dry from his repeated singing, Thranduil slowly brought the tune to a close, tapering off until finally he stopped with one soft, drawn out note. He held his breath as he surveyed the elleth who had calmed considerably. "Shall we try again?" The elleth rose up a little, giving him a dangerous look. "Perhaps not," he said with a sigh as he pushed his hair back over his ears.

The elleth's eyes widened, and a moment later, she flung herself upon Thranduil, nearly knocking him from the tree.


	2. Chapter 2

"Psst! Erestor!" Thranduil motioned that the ancient elf should come to the doorway he was hiding in. It was practically impossible to get the dark-haired scribe alone, for it seemed everyone sought his advice or services. Apologizing to Lhunerin, Erestor backtracked his steps gracefully to the doorway and gave Thranduil an inquiring look. "I have to show you something."

Nodding, Erestor followed Thranduil down the corridor until they reached one of the many passages that led outside. Thranduil glanced to the elf walking beside him a number of times before finally speaking. “I found something in the forest. Rather, someone.”

Erestor’s pace slowed but did not stop, and Thranduil adjusted his steps accordingly. “Who?”

“That is why I wanted you to come with me,” answered Thranduil. “In all honesty, I do not know.”

As Thranduil led Erestor further and further from the safety of the city, the elder elf appeared to grow more suspicious. “Have you been going beyond the girdle again, Thranduil?”

“What, only a little,” he replied with no hint of remorse or guilt. “Besides, I would not have found her if I had not.”

Erestor said no more as they walked through the trees, though Thranduil did take note that he looked back every now and then to judge the distance. When they came to a cluster of maples, Thranduil looked around very cautiously and listened. “Just a moment,” he said, moving to one of the larger trees. Thranduil untied a sack that was looped around his belt and opened it as he peered up into the branches. “I am back again,” he called up softly into the tree. “I have brought more food for you.”

Erestor watched from a distance of a few paces behind Thranduil as the leaves rustled just slightly. Very soon, a thin and somewhat neglected looking elleth came down the trunk and to the ground. She nearly knocked Thranduil over as she wrapped her arms around him. After holding her and speaking to her in a calm voice, the young elf managed to settle them both onto the ground and began to pull the food out of the bag.

“Remarkable,” said Erestor, still standing some distance from them. “I had heard rumors of wild tree elves, but I had not seen-“ He stopped as the elleth looked up at him abruptly. All color drained from her face and she trembled fiercely, clung to Thranduil, and screamed.

Pulling the elleth closer, Thranduil dropped the sack he had been holding and called out over the screams, “What happened? What did you do, Erestor?”

Shaking his head, Erestor began to back away. “I am not sure. I do not know.”

“Do not leave!” shouted Thranduil. “I want to get her into the city, and I do not know anyone who would have a better idea than you how to do that! She panics when I try to move her from the forest. She does not understand a word I say.”

“I am not leaving; I am just giving her some space. Show her I am backing down,” suggested Erestor. “How did she react to you the first time?”

“She hissed and she spat.”

“Maybe this is an improvement.”

Thranduil lifted a hand to touch the elleth’s cheek. For a moment she caught her breath and panted, a wild look in her eyes. Thranduil pointed toward the retreating elf and the elleth snarled and reared up in a manner fiercer than she had when first encountering Thranduil. “I do not think so,” called out the young elf.

“Right. Let us try something else.” Erestor lowered himself slowly onto the grass, sitting down with his legs out in front of him. “Bring her over here, show her I am not dangerous.”

Doing his best to calm the frantic elleth with whispered words and reassuring touches, Thranduil managed to coax her into standing up and walking halfway to where Erestor was before a low growl rose in her throat. “Erestor, push your hair back behind your ears.”

Erestor did as instructed, his movements fluid and non threatening. Resting on the grass again, he licked his lips and bit the bottom one in frustration when the noise continued to grow more enraged. “Is there anything else you did?” questioned the dark elf.

“Nothing I can think of,” Thranduil said regretfully. He stroked the back of the elleth’s neck, wishing he knew how to make her understand. There had to be some way of finding out why she had such a great fear of the calm elf that was now picking at a string that was loose on his boot. “What is wrong? Tell me what is wrong.” he said softly, hoping something of his question was understood.

Keeping an eye on Erestor, the elleth raised up her hands, palms facing Thranduil. He released her, and lifted his own hands, repeating the action, placing his palms against hers. Pulling away, she again showed him her palms, and then sat down on the ground and, still checking to make sure Erestor did not move, displayed her palms to him once more.

“Erestor, would you-“

“Yes, I understand quite clearly.” The elf sitting on the ground put up his hands, fingers spread and palms facing the elleth. From her spot on the ground, she relaxed a little, and then crawled forward until she was inches away from Erestor’s hands.

“Curious behavior,” remarked Thranduil as the elleth poked the center of Erestor’s right hand before taking it in her own, scrutinizing his palm.

“At least she is not hissing. Or biting,” reasoned Erestor as his other hand was taken to be examined, and then dropped to his lap to join his right. He was looked upon with a wary eye for a little longer, until the elleth scrambled back to Thranduil. Kneeling on the ground, Thranduil enfolded the elleth in his arms and she collapsed against him, shaking and sobbing.


	3. Chapter 3

“What is it?”

“She is not an ‘it’, Halmir, and she, if you are so blind not to notice, is an elf.” Thranduil pulled the frightened elleth closer to him as he walked through the corridor to the healer’s. After much coaxing, he had convinced the mysterious female to come with him, and now she seemed rather curious about everyone and everything they came across on their path.

Halmir frowned. “She is a little raggedy, isn’t she? I think she could use a bath.”

“Must you always be so opinionated?” snapped Thranduil. Halmir huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I hope she does not have fleas,” spoke a slightly older elf, though he, too, had only barely reached his majority.

“What a dreadful thing to say, Gildor!” admonished Finduilas, shoving her cousin into her laughing brother. Halmir, nearly knocked into the wall of the cave, shoved back, causing Finduilas to bump into Celeborn, the youngest and quietest of the group. He, unlike his friends, was still considered an elfling, and fell down partially due to his smaller size and partially due to the awkward adolescent stage he was in where one’s feet tend to trip oneself merely just because.

Thranduil paused and doubled back, still with his arm around the elleth’s waist. “Halmir, really.”

“She started it!” he said, pointing a finger at Finduilas in an accusing manner.

“She is also younger than you,” Thranduil reminded him as he helped Celeborn up from the ground.

Gildor snorted. “And it shows.”

“And you!” Thranduil left the elleth to stand between Celeborn and Finduilas. “What I ought to do is-“

“What is all this?” demanded a stern voice. The eyes of the entire group shot down the hallway where Erestor stood, looking none too pleased. “I certainly hope none of you were quarrelling,” he said, approaching slowly, mindful of the response the elleth had to him. Luckily, this was not noticed by the others, for all of them were cowering to varying degrees as he stopped amid the younger elves.

He did not need to ask what was going on to make a judgment. “Halmir, Gildor, go cause trouble elsewhere. Finduilas, Celeborn, come along with us.”

“Why do we not get to come see the freak?” asked Halmir as Erestor began to lead the rest down the hall. Even Gildor knew his friend had gone too far and stepped back against the wall as Erestor crossed back to where they stood in two paces.

“You are ever so lucky you are not my son,” Erestor snarled in a very low voice, “and you are ever so lucky I do not strike the children of others, but some days, Halmir...” His voice trailed off, his threat idle as always. Halmir smirked and pulled Gildor’s sleeve as the pair left in the opposite direction.

“You will not have to hit him,” Thranduil grumbled as they resumed their course. “One of these days-“

“No.” Erestor paused and held Thranduil still by his shoulder. “Do not let his words anger you, do not let them blacken your heart. You are a goodly sort, Thranduil, I do not wish to see you make the sort of mistake so many of our kin have. There is no reason to fight each other when greater forces exist that would see us tear one another apart so they themselves need not do the work.” Erestor shook his head. “That is not the issue. For now, avoid them, please,” appealed the elder elf. Thranduil nodded. “Thank you.” They continued to the hall where there healing rooms were located.

\- - -

“She is well enough, physically,” explained Finduilas as she exited into the waiting area with the strange elleth. The healer had insisted that it was not proper to allow the males into the examination room, and so it was with deep regrets that Thranduil allowed his friend from the forest to be led back into the strange room with only Finduilas for comfort. As soon as she spied him, the elleth was back at Thranduil’s side once more. “The worry is that she is carrying some sort of psychological burden, but she doesn’t seem to be able to communicate. She was intimidated by many things, but simple things she tended to recognize. There is little doubt she was abandoned at a young age, but beyond that they do not know.”

Erestor wearily accepted the scroll one of the healers handed him and stood up. “The council is waiting for me; I shall return with news as soon as I have any. In the meantime, Thranduil, your father is aware of the situation. Take her to your dwelling, he is expecting you.”

“What about us?” questioned Finduilas as she and Celeborn both stood.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Erestor said, “It is best you return home, the hour is late.” He left them then, worried and a bit out of sorts. Finduilas and Celeborn both bid Thranduil and the mystery elleth a good evening before leaving as well.

“A sad thing, that,” remarked Thranduil in a low and comforting voice as he motioned that they should leave. “Neither of them had a name to call you when they wished you a good night. They knew exactly what to call me, but what am I to do, give you a name? That seems quite presumptuous,” he said to her, despite the fact that he assumed she understood none of his words.

“I need to call you something, though,” he decided. As they walked, he pondered various names in his head, until one came to him and he smiled. “My parents said that if they ever had a girl, they wanted to name her Avisiel. Until I learn your true name, if you have one...” he realized sadly. He paused their walking down the corridor and led her to an unused bench in the hallway. “Avisiel,” he said to her. “What do you think of that? Yes? No?”

The elleth tilted her head in confusion, and Thranduil realized that this word, like all the others, held no meaning. He placed a hand on top of her head and repeated, “Avisiel,” to which the elleth reached out in confusion and put her palm on his head. “No, no,” he laughed, removing her hand. He tried again, pointing a finger at her. “Avisiel,” he said, but she reared back with wide eyes, and Thranduil retracted the offending digit. “Sorry, I am sorry!” he said, and berated himself. “Pointing is rude, one does not point at a lady,” he mumbled, shaking his head as the elleth slowly calmed down and watched him.

“Avisiel,” he tried once more, putting one hand on either shoulder, and seeing a glimmer of recognition in her eye, raised one hand and stroked the back of his fingers against her cheek, repeating the name. She made a contented noise, like a purr of a kitten, and realizing how inappropriate his action was, Thranduil quickly withdrew his hand and stood up. “Never mind, I am not making sense,” he said to himself, deciding they should move on before someone, like Halmir or Gildor, caught them alone in the hallway.

His right ear twitched slightly as he picked up on a small sound. A series of small sounds. Something she was trying to communicate to him. He crouched down to listen better, and took one of her hands in his. “I am sorry, what was that?”

Looking into his eyes, the slightest hint of worry in them, she said faintly, “Thranduil,” and put her free hand to his cheek.

Blinking in bewilderment for a few moments, he grasped her other hand as she began to withdraw it. “Yes!” he answered in an excited whisper, squeezing her hands. “Yes, Thranduil, I am Thranduil.” He let go of her hands to place his palms to his chest. “Thranduil,” he repeated, and then, instead of pointing he spread his hands out with his palms flat and fingers pointing toward her for her response.

She drew her hands to her breast, but then stopped with her mouth open and shook her head. Whether because she could not recall her own name or did not have one, Thranduil knew not, but when she pressed her fingers gently to his lips and waited expectantly, he said, “Avisiel.”

“Avisiel,” she repeated, and Thranduil nodded emphatically.

“Yes! Avisiel,” he said happily, and for the first time, she smiled. Thranduil’s eyes widened for a moment as, for the first time, he realized she was not just an elleth, and not just a lady. She was a beautiful, vibrant, and from what he could tell, intelligent young lady. Or, at least, that was as far as he got before he kissed her.

“Thranduil!”

The young elf was startled into landing on his rear on the floor from the stooped position he had been in. Swallowing hard, he looked over his shoulder to see his father looking down at him with a great deal of amusement.

“Dinner is getting cold,” he informed his son, and then looked at the elleth and bowed. “It is an honor to meet you...” his gaze drifted down to his son.

“Avisiel,” answered Thranduil, meekly picking himself up off of the floor.

“An honor, Avisiel.” Oropher squeezed Thranduil’s shoulder. “Your mother and I will be waiting.”

“Yes, Ada,” he responded as his father walked away.

“That was most embarrassing,” he mumbled as he offered Avisiel his arm.

As if sensing his sudden discomfort, Avisiel petted Thranduil’s head. He gave a bit of an undignified snort as they walked to the door to Oropher’s home. Frowning, Avisiel waited until they had entered the greeting room and closed the door, and then she stepped close to Thranduil and awkwardly kissed him back. Oropher, sitting in a chair and pretending to read, barely looked up at the pair, with a look of mock disapproval.

“She kissed me this time!” blurted out Thranduil, though to his credit, he was not blushing.

Oropher chuckled and set his book down on the table beside his chair. “Come, the dinner is getting cold.”


	4. Chapter 4

“And then she kissed me,” Thranduil explained excitedly.

Celeborn bit into his slice of beef, held firmly between two thick slices of fresh bread. “And then what?” he mumbled with his mouth full.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Well, then we went to have dinner and we sat and father sang, but that is not the point!”

Shrugging, Celeborn continued to eat. “So? You kiss lots of girls.”

Thranduil shook Celeborn’s shoulder. “That is not the point! SHE kissed ME! She didn’t pout, or stomp off, or turn into a rabid stalker,” he said, shuddering at the thought of a previous incident. “She kissed me. And then we had dinner, and pleasant conversation- well, she didn’t converse, but she did smile at me. More than once!” Thranduil was beaming and his leg was fidgeting a little from his excitement. Celeborn pushed him away.

“Stop that, you’re going to cause me to make a mess.”

Thranduil looked down at the spots of gravy that had already landed on his friend’s pants. “No need for help from me,” he decided.

“So what if she kissed you?” Celeborn chomped away despite the fact the gravy was dripping from the bottom of his sandwich. “Sooner or later, one of them had to kiss you back.”

“She might be the one,” Thranduil said, nudging Celeborn, which only made the mess worse as the younger missed his mouth and splotched a gravy trail across his cheek. “She could be, you know, the other half of my soul.”

“Oh. That.” Celeborn snickered as he wiped his face with his sleeve. “You do not really believe in that, do you?”

Straightening up, Thranduil answered, “Of course I do! How can you not believe it?”

“I just do not think it is always accurate,” answered Celeborn, shoving the rest of his meal into his mouth. “That whole ‘oh, you feel like you are flying’ and all that. Rubbish,” he said, though it sounded more like ‘Russhish’ with his mouth full.

“Rubbish, is it? Well, I certainly think it could be true. Just because you have never experienced it-“

“Oh, I have. I did, once,” said Celeborn, licking his fingers clean. “And that is why I do not think it is true.”

“Oh?”

“Well, she was so OLD,” Celeborn continued, sucking the gravy from his thumb. “So, obviously, it was not true.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. “You do not believe it to be true, or you do not want to believe it to be true?”

“Same thing,” replied Celeborn.

“It is not the same thing,” Thranduil argued. “Most definitely not.” For a few moments they sat in silence. “So, who is she?”

“Hmm? Who?”

“You know.” Thranduil leaned toward Celeborn. “The one who made you feel ‘oh, like you were flying’.”

“Oh. I do not know.”

“You do not know?” Thranduil crossed his arms and stared at his cousin. “You do not know? How can you not know?”

Celeborn shrugged. “I was very young at the time.”

“And still are,” Thranduil reminded him. “What was her name?”

Celeborn shrugged again. “I do not know. I called her Alatariel, but I do not think that is really what her name is.”

Thranduil contemplated this as Celeborn swung his legs back and forth and watched some stray crickets hop around the corridor. Avisiel, tired by all of the excitement, was still asleep. Not wanting to wake her, but not wanting to be cooped inside, Thranduil had intercepted young Celeborn on his way to somewhere or another and convinced him to eat his lunch on the stoop that led into Oropher’s home. Thranduil had instructions to bring Avisiel to Erestor’s study, but hadn’t been given direction further than that.

“I know I have heard that name before,” muttered Thranduil.

“I am bored,” announced Celeborn. “Do you know where Finduilas is?”

“No. This elleth whose name you do not know, does she live here in Doriath?”

“I do not know,” shrugged Celeborn. “I met her in Valinor.”

“In Valinor...”

“Not too many years ago, a few dozen perhaps.”

“A few dozen...”

“She had really, really long silver and gold hair, and there this cheerful elf with her. I think his hair was even longer than hers, but after a while I did not see him with her.”

Thranduil cringed back with realization. “Oh... no...” He looked at Celeborn with wide eyes. “Not... her...”

“What?”

“Did she have a lot of brothers?”

“I do not know, she might have,” answered Celeborn. “Wait, yes, I think she had three or four, she would run races against them.”

“Uhhll...” Thranduil buried his face in his hands. “She is not nice, you know. If it is who I think it is.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Artanis. Nerwen.”

Celeborn looked confused. “Well, which one is it?”

“Both.” Thranduil shook his head. “Once, when we were younger, she tried to...” Realizing his dignity was at stake, he said, “Well, she did a lot of bad things.”

“She did not seem bad to me,” said Celeborn.

“Oh, she is bad. Very bad,” warned Thranduil. “In fact, I do not think there is a worse elleth anyone could end up with.”

“Does not matter,” responded Celeborn. “It does not really work anyhow, I mean, it can not. She was way too old.”

Thranduil blinked. “She could not have been more than twenty years my elder!”

Celeborn blinked back. “So, you are pretty old then, too.”

Before he could come up with a rebuttal, the door behind them opened and a sleepy-eyed elleth peered out. “Next time, Celeborn, we are going to have a discussion on age and why it is irrelevant,” he said as he stood up and entered the house with Avisiel. He turned around and added, “You should go and ask Erestor about how bad Artanis is.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting on a low stone bench just beside the entry into the caves, Thranduil pointed to various objects in one of the picture books he was using to teach Avisiel to speak and read, and she very eagerly informed him of what each of them was. He found her memory to be exemplary, and only rarely did she need to be prompted.

“You are brilliant,” he praised when they finished the final book for the second time. Avisiel smiled and leaned forward to collect the customary kiss from him each time the day’s lesson came to an end. “Alright, you are better than brilliant,” he grinned, and had the urge to draw her onto his lap, were it not for the fact that Erestor and Finduilas were approaching.

“Is it noonday already?” questioned Thranduil rhetorically, glancing up at the sun. Odd thing, that. Something he’d yet to get used to – great glowing light moving across the sky. It seemed so much more impersonal than the two great trees he knew in his childhood.

Nodding, Erestor bowed politely and Finduilas curtseyed smartly; the gestures were returned by Thranduil and Avisiel as they stood. Lunch was a time for Avisiel to spend with other young ladies, and in the afternoons she was learning such feminine pastimes as needlepoint and gossiping, both of which she seemed to take delight in even if she was not very well versed yet in either. When the schedule was first set, it vexed Thranduil, but he was reminded by Erestor that it was not entirely proper for him to be the one to see to her morning instruction, and so he said little more on the matter.

Thranduil gathered the books as Finduilas led Avisiel back inside, and Erestor sat down on the bench. “Her conversation is getting better, I am told,” remarked Erestor.

“Yes,” agreed Thranduil, sitting down with the stack of books on his lap. “Much, much better. She has even begun one or two on her own. Is that not excellent?”

“Yes. Quite excellent.”

Thranduil frowned, picking up on the sadness from the other elf. “Is something the matter?”

Erestor took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This morning I had a very interesting conversation with someone. A young friend of yours, in fact, regarding a mutual friend. Someone we both knew in Aman.”

Rubbing the spines of the books with his finger, Thranduil remained silent, shifting slightly on the bench.

“He was apparently interested in the reported character and morals of said friend. I was slightly shocked, to say the least, at what he had to say.”

“Well, she did a lot of questionable things,” interrupted Thranduil. “I did not want him to go around thinking she was a nice elleth or anything.”

“We all do questionable things,” spoke Erestor softly. “You may not think she was a nice elleth, but you do not know her like I do.”

“Perhaps not,” answered Thranduil. “But I did know her.”

“You knew of her, you ran around the gardens with her, tagged along when she and Ecthelion found themselves in trouble, yes, but did you really know her? What is her favorite color?”

“I do not know. Maybe, blue, I suppose. Does it matter?”

Erestor shook his head. “Maybe it does not. But something simple as that, you should know the answer to. Do you not think so?”

“Erestor, from the first time I met her, I knew she was trouble. Just the way she looked, the way she acted.”

“Why, what did she do?” asked Erestor.

Looking off in the distance, Thranduil smirked. “Told me the tree I was in was hers and she was queen of the forest. We ended up pushing each other out of the tree and I tore the knees of my leggings.”

“That does not sound so bad.”

“It is one of the worst meetings I ever had!” he argued.

“I have got a worse one. There was an elleth I met once in a forest, and she hissed and snarled at me and nearly went for my throat.”

“Oh. Right.” Thranduil glanced up and gave Erestor an apologetic look, but found the other elf to be staring off in the distance at a tree. “Well, I think we have all come around to her, and she to us. For the most part,” he added, remembering that Avisiel still would not speak a word to Erestor.

“Halmir and Gildor do not seem to have warmed up to her,” reminded Erestor. “They still think she is nothing more than a wild forest creature you are trying to tame.”

“Yes, well I have a word or two regarding them,” countered Thranduil. “And anyhow, they do not-“ He stopped, and now Erestor looked at him.

“Go on,” prompted the ancient elf.

Thranduil ground his back teeth and then said, “They do not know her like I do.”

“Judge not lest ye be judged.” Erestor’s soft voice was in contrast to the power of the words he spoke. “I know Artanis was not as well loved by everyone as she was by me, but there was good in her and still is.”

“I am sorry Erestor,” Thranduil said. “It is just... she did such horrible, terrible things...”

“Things that can be forgiven,” whispered Erestor. “Things I have forgiven her for. And you will be able to. In time.”

Placing a hand on his elder’s shoulder, Thranduil said, “If you can forgive her, then I can, too.”

“No.” Erestor shook his head. “No, you need to do that when you are ready. Not when I am ready, when you are. Forgiveness should be sincere, not forced upon the giver. Then it is meaningless and only breeds anger and suspicion.”

Thranduil nodded again and then said, “I wish we would have talked more like this in Valinor.”

“I think we may have had some very good conversations,” agreed Erestor.


	6. Chapter 6

Thranduil woke up in a most wonderful way. Despite the fact that his right arm had fallen asleep and was tingling in a rather unpleasant manner, and that the blankets did not quite cover his toes, things were pretty must better than he could ever imagine them being. The funny thing was how things could go from the best moment of your life to the worst moment in your life in no time at all.

“Thranduil?”

His head swirved, looking away from the dark-haired elleth that was cuddled next to him and to the doorway, where only a curtain hanged in the natural passageway of this alcove of the cave to give the occupant some privacy. Occupants, at the moment actually. Had it been his fault that Avisiel had a nightmare, and that he had heard it and come to comfort here, and had ended up spending the night? Not at all. Was it his fault not to remove himself back to his room before the rest of the household woke and found him here? Well, yes, very much his fault he decided as he wiggled his way out from under his sleeping companion, trying to smooth back his hair and not wake Avisiel.

His hope was that he could make excuse to his father he had merely come to wake her. If only he could get out of the bed. But as he dislodged his arm, Avisiel sleepily awoke, smiling up at him. Her arms wrapped around his stronger one, closing her eyes and rubbing her cheek against him shoulder. She did not, therefore, see when the curtain was pulled back by Oropher, nor the glare he gave to his flush-faced son.

As soon as the curtain fell back in place, Thranduil swiftly moved away, set on protecting their mutual honor. Kissing Avisiel chastely on the cheek, he threw back the covers and bounded to the doorway. Ducking around the curtain, he found his father still outside the door, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I can explain everything,” Thranduil whispered in a very calm and diplomatic tone. Oropher gave a nod, and Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief. “First, nothing happened. Nothing that shouldn’t have happened, happened, I mean,” he said hurriedly. “That is, nothing that would anger you. We touched, yes, but nothing improper, or at least—“ Groaning to himself, and at the look of confusion that was deepening on his father’s face, he said, “I came to comfort her from a nightmare, and I did not want to leave her alone until morning. That is all.”

Oropher’s eyes searched Thranduil’s face for something before he asked, “You did not bind to her.”

“Good gracious, no!” he exclaimed, and then, mortified at his own outburst and denial of his feelings, quickly added, “Not that I... do not want to.”

Stepping forward, Oropher reached up and placed a hand upon Thranduil’s shoulder. “I have always been proud of you, ion-nin. You know that?”

“Yes, Adar,” he said with a nod.

“Most of all, your honestly. You have had trouble articulating the truth sometimes, but you have always been honest. To that end, you are the best son a father could ever hope to have. It would be a great disservice to you if I were not to teach you to be the best husband an elleth could ever have.”

“Well, I have learned a lot from you,” Thranduil answered. “Honestly.”

Oropher smiled and squeezed Thranduil’s shoulder. “You have, but there are some things which I have put off, thinking you too young. You are well beyond your majority, old enough that most your age would not have stayed themselves as you have. Through your actions, you have shown you are not only of an age to marry, but of a mind to as well.”

“Thank you, sir,” he answered humbly. He knew his father had always been proud of him, but it had never been elaborated upon in such a manner. Besides loving his father and liking him without complaint, he respected him greatly. Such words from one he so admired would never be forgotten, and neither would he forget what was spoken of next.

“You need to learn to fight.”

“What?”

“With a sword, with bow. You will need to be armed. Once you marry, the protection of your family will be your greatest concern,” Oropher said gravely. “I wish I had taken the time to teach you myself, but as a lad you had no reason to carry one like you Noldorin friends did. We are in a different world now.”

Thranduil grimaced. “Adar, I do not want to carry a sword.”

“Then I cannot give my consent,” he said simply. “As guardian to Avisiel, I will not permit you to court her any longer.”

“But look what it did to my friends,” pleaded Thranduil. “I do not want to kill, I do not want to end up like that.”

“I am not asking you to be like them. I am asking you to remember all of our kindred, all those who perished on our ships. All those who could not protect themselves, their wives, their children, as they were slaughtered and cast into the sea. I do not want that to be your fate,” he said in a stern, yet gentle tone. “I love you too much for that. I am rather fond of Avisiel, too,” he admitted with a smile. “It is for the best, if you love her. Ultimately I cannot stop you, but please, consider what I have said.” Oropher began to walk down the hall when Thranduil halted him.

“Will you teach me?” he called out.

Oropher turned around. “Actually, I have someone else in mind for the task, if he will agree to it.” Walking back, he added, “I should like to have you spend a little more of your free time in more academic pursuits as well. Think about what you will do with yourself, what occupation you plan to have.”

Thranduil shrugged. “I thought I would just cross over the sea with her, back to Valinor.”

Considering this, Oropher slowly nodded. “That may work, but you will still need to decide what to do once you are there. You may wish to speak with her about that – we still do not know anything about her, her family, or even where she comes from. Unless she has spoken to you.”

“No, she has not said anything, and I do not wish to press the matter. As for an occupation, I shall speak with Erestor. He may have some suggestion for me,” mused Thranduil.

“A wise choice. You... you may wish to seek his advice on... relations with an elleth as well,” suggested Oropher, he now becoming the slightly bashful one.

“Oh, I know all about that already,” Thranduil replied. When his father’s brow rose up, he added quickly, “Yet, not as much as I could know.”

\- - -

“When you angle the bow, the higher your angle, the greater the arc. The greater the arc, the further it flies.” The elf that had been training him suddenly stepped forward and tilted the tip of Thranduil’s arrow down slightly. “You do not ever want to have an arc that close to a ninety-degree angle, unless you want the wind to catch it so that your enemy doesn’t have to shoot you himself.”

“Sorry,” apologized Thranduil, lowering the bow and rubbing his shoulder. “This is a lot tougher than you make it look, Thaladir,” he said, grabbing his own wrist and stretching his arm behind him, wincing. “Are the longer ones any easier?”

Thaladir shook his head negatively. “I would not imagine giving you one of those for another few weeks at least,” he promised, upon seeing the pained look on Thranduil’s face. “Let us see if you can manage to his the target a few times more before lunch,” he suggested.

Thranduil nodded and raised his weapon up once more. Squinting to make sure he had focused on the bulls eye, he drew an arrow from his back and in one fluid motion had drawn it back against the taut string. So far, so good, at least his elven grace allowed him to look like an archer.

*Thwack!*

Even if he could not shoot like an archer.

“Oh... damn...” was all Thranduil could manage as he bowed his head. Thaladir had raised a hand to cover his mouth in shock and looked down to where Thranduil had crouched down in humiliation as other archers began to look over to his mark.

Grabbing a long pole that had a red flag flying from it, Thaladir raised it up and shouted for the others to stop. Already, one of the Captains on the field had run toward the spot that Thaladir was calmly approaching, a yellow flag fluttering from his pole. Peering through the fingers that covered his face, Thranduil stood back up with a sigh and brushed himself off as the Captain and the Lieutenant walked back to his mark.

”Your kill, m’lord,” jested the Captain, holding out the arrow to Thranduil. With a wry smile, Thranduil took hold of the shaft. “Not bad, from the distance. Most of my archers could not have hit it.”

“I swear, it was not my target,” apologized Thranduil.

“Sometimes in battle, what matters is that you just hit the enemy, not necessarily the one you were aiming for.”

\- - -

The lesson had been cut short after that, due mostly to the fact that Thranduil was merely too embarrassed to continue after making his ‘kill’, and that he wanted to bury the poor, unfortunate squirrel away from the field where he could not be seen by the others before heading to lunch. Thaladir had been patient with him, perhaps even amused by his actions, but it was difficult to tell, for he seemed to have a calm that surpassed even Erestor’s stoic manner.

“Can I ask you a question of a personal nature?” queried Thranduil as he walked with Thaladir to Erestor’s study after lunch. Twice a week they, with three others similar in age to them, met with the wise elf for discussions of history and philosophy, and other things a young, well-bred elf nearing or just past his majority should consider and contemplate. The conversations were quite casual in topic, but the manner in which the sessions were conducted were not. Even on days when the pair started on the training fields, they were expected to be properly dressed and well groomed – though it was never said, it was to be expected, and it did confuse Thranduil slightly as to why they all needed to present themselves in such a way for a few hours of tea and conversation which sometimes turned to such things as the types of grasses that grew or the activities planned for a particular festival. It seemed to him they would all be much more comfortable in a simple pair of leggings and a tunic.

Thaladir had been pondering the question already asked for a short time before answering, “It would be rude not to answer you, but I feel personal questions tend to bring up things that are rather private and should be left unsaid.”

“Oh. I am very sorry then to have even asked,” said Thranduil. “I only wanted to know why it was that you leave your entire uniform on out in the practice fields when even the Captain is casually dressed.” He glanced sideways at Thaladir, hoping his sly attempt at asking had not offended him. Expecting to have received some polite answer explaining it was not his business to know such a thing, it surprised him to be given such a detailed reply.

“When I am on the field, whether or not anyone else takes their job seriously, I myself do. I am expected to present myself in a particular way. Uniforms would not even be required if they were not meant to be worn. Even those who remove only a single article of the uniform are showing, even if they do not mean to, that they do not have pride in their position. And, it is unseemly,” he finished.

“Unseemly?” questioned Thranduil, having not heard the word before.

Thaladir halted them as they came closer to Erestor’s study. “Improper. Would it be proper for Master Erestor to attend a meeting of the council in his boots and leggings and nothing else?”

“Well, no, I should think not,” answered Thranduil.

“Precisely. And would a king greet visitors in his hall wearing a shirt and trousers?”

“I should hope not,” he said, laughing at the image that had been painted in his mind.

“We are each of us our own king,” said Thaladir. “We are the ones who choose how we are presented. If we slouch in our throne, or if we walk down the street, dignified with head held high. If we take our lunch with our hands, or if we eat civilly and converse politely with others at the table. If we court an elleth by kissing her openly in the courtyard for all to see, or if we are discreet and woo her in the most appropriate manner.” Thranduil blushed slightly as Thaladir continued. “Contrary to popular belief there is only one who makes the majority of our decisions. How to act, how to look, how to dress, how to speak, how to live. And thus,” he concluded, “I shall continue to make the decisions in a manner fit for a king, as it were.”

Thranduil wondered if anyone noticed how much quieter he shut the door when he entered, and how much straighter he sat during the discussion that day. When they adjourned for the day and Thaladir gave him a nod and a smile, he did the same, and walked back to his home with his head held high.


	7. Chapter 7

“Thranduil, this is a very important meeting. Look at how dressed up I am.” Thaladir lifted his arms out to his sides, displaying fully the richly embroidered robes. “Your father will not be pleased if you show up to great the delegates from the other realms in that – look, you’ve got a smudge.”

“Where?” asked Thranduil, looking at his appearance in the mirror.

“Right here,” answered Erestor, touching the back of the tunic the young elf wore.

Thranduil peered over his back, trying to get a look in the mirror. “Damn.”

“Here.” Thaladir pulled the robes that had been brought in earlier by Thranduil’s mother. They were newly made, in the vibrant golds and greens of his house. Thranduil had turned his nose up at them, frowning at the heavy fabric and long sleeves that came nearly to the very tips of his fingers. The hem brushed the floor as he walked, and he had pulled them off in favor of a neatly pressed tunic and pants. “Wear these.” There was an accompanying sleeveless vest that hung past the robes and trailed behind, and Erestor tossed this atop the robe Thaladir held out.

“I hate wearing new clothes when I meet people for the first time,” he grumbled as he took the garments into the adjoining room to change. While away, he missed Erestor wiping the ink from his fingers that had produced the last minute smudge on his tunic. Thaladir was sighing silently in relief as Thranduil returned. “What’s the matter now?”

“Nothing, only that we are late,” answered Thaladir sternly. The trio left the household and turned in the direction of the council rooms when Erestor snapped his fingers.

“Shoot. I forgot something in my office. Thranduil, we need to get there right away,” he said in reference to himself and Thaladir. “Can you go to the offices, and get the small wooden box that is sitting atop my desk?”

“Yes, of course,” said Thranduil, more preoccupied with tugging on his collar as he went to find the box. Erestor and Thaladir watched him go for a moment before hurrying on their way.

“You don’t think he suspects, do you?” asked Erestor.

Thaladir shook his head, and smirked.

\- - -

To say that Thingol’s Great Hall was full was an understatement. It was packed, nearly wall to wall with elves, except for the narrow aisle that led up to an altar at the front, where a veiled elleth stood between Finduilas and Celeborn.

“Welcome to your wedding.” The sound of his father’s voice nearly made Thranduil jump. “I realized that the moment I gave my permission for you to marry her, you would. So, I give you my consent. May you be blessed with a strong, loving marriage.”

Thranduil blinked. “I was tricked,” he whispered. “There is no great meeting here, no grand delegation of the elven realms, is there?”

Oropher couldn’t help but to smile. “No, but there is an entire room full of elves here to see you get married.”

“I cannot believe you are making me do this on such short notice,” he joked, as if this was a great inconvenience. Looking over his shoulder at the awaiting mass, and specifically to the front of the room where his bride stood, Thranduil turned back to face his father. “We should be promised to one another for a year first, should we not? Not that I mind- and I don’t have a ring, or-“ Thranduil paused as his father took the box from him and opened it, then showed the contents to Thranduil. A pair of identical rings, both made of a braid of silver and gold, caught the light and gleamed brightly from within the box.

“If you prefer an engagement, I doubt anyone will be disappointed in that.”

Once more Thranduil looked down the aisle, and this time his eyes met Avisiel’s worried gaze. “Who knew?”

“That you would be tricked into getting married?”

“That I would be so lucky as to find someone so special, and have such supportive friends and family.” Thranduil took the rings from the box and placed them into his pocket. “With your permission, sir?” Oropher nodded as Thranduil walked proudly to the front of the room. As he came to the altar and took his place beside Avisiel, he slid the rings discretely to Celeborn, no longer a gangly tag-along youth, but a regal-looking young elf, whose mind showed great promise. Finduilas took the bouquet of flowers from Avisiel, smiling brightly. Nearby in the front row sat a grinning young elf, paying attention only to Finduilas, winking to her when she looked his way. Beside him, his brother Gelmir, and closer to the aisle, Thingol and Melian, and then, Thranduil’s mother, who was joined a moment later by his father.

Thranduil’s distraction by the crowd did not last much longer, as Thaladir came around the side of the delegation and stood up on the raised platform, waiting for silence. Thranduil couldn’t help but smile to know his good friend would be presiding over his wedding, but his greatest surprise came as it came time for the blessing. Instead of his father, someone rose from near the back and walked slowly to the front, as if he still was not quite sure of what he was going to say.

“Marriage is a sacred bond,” began Erestor, “shared between two very devoted, loving elves. It is a door – a beginning, and an end. An end to youth, to childhood, and to the frivolous things the younger generations do. But, it is not an end to happiness, nor an end to merriment. It is the beginning of a new journey, a journey together.”

Erestor’s tone changed, relaxing as he continued. “It is highly believed that marriage leads to strict protocols, that as husband and wife, a couple should be the most perfect examples to others, especially their children. It is a world where one should lead by example, but that example should not include the absence of laughter, or of taking joy in simple things. Use the time you have together wisely, do not assume that marriage is an end to courtship. Continue to live each day as if it is the first day you met, and treat each kiss as if it is the first and the last.”

A number of the elves began to look oddly at one another, and at Erestor, but the wedding party continued to listen to each word Erestor said from their places before the altar, knelt in respect of what they were doing, of the pledge they were making. Thranduil could feel Avisiel’s nervousness, knowing she had never grown comfortable in crowds, and especially not as the center of attention. Reaching over, he squeezed her hand, and smiled to her, and she to him. With a calm, happy sigh, Thranduil turned his attention back to Erestor.

“May the Valar take witness upon this act, and bless your choice. May they bestow upon you happiness and harmony, and may your love ever and always be pure for one another.” Erestor stepped away from the podium amid an awkward silence before Thaladir stepped forward for the final prayer and the vows. Even he looked a bit shaken by Erestor’s words.

\- - -

“Tell me, Erestor,” said Thingol as guests began to mingle between dinner and dancing, “is it customary now not to mention Eru, Manwe, and Varda in the marriage blessings?”

“Well, obviously, the Valar are present at every wedding of the first born, in one capacity or another,” explained the scribe. “To name one or another specifically, when perhaps it is another who will give his or her blessing to the couple, seems quite presumptuous.”

Thingol did not seem to agree. “It seems presumptuous not to mention them by name.”

“Elu,” Melian said, sliding her arm around her husband’s waist, “the blessing was lovely, and the wedding was simply perfect. Don’t spoil it for the happy couple,” she said, leaning against him, and smiling to Thranduil and Avisiel.

“Thranduil, what is your thought on the blessing?” asked Thingol. Erestor rolled his eyes, unseen by his lord, and sipped his champagne.

“I thought it to be very original,” Thranduil said, and bowed out of the matter by saying, “If you shall excuse us, we must thank the others who helped in planning this occasion.” Leading his blushing bride away from the argument, he came upon the rest of the wedding party, along with Gelmir and Gwindor. “You scoundrels,” he said to them in a hushed voice. “How long did you manage to keep it secret?”

“Long, long time,” answered Gelmir, holding out his hand in congratulations. “It seems as if everyone eventually knew except you, though.”

Giving a nod, Thranduil said, “I’ve been so busy, between my shift on guard and my appointment to the financial offices, I’ve barely been able to see what was being done right under my nose!”

“Oh, you loved it,” grinned Finduilas.

“I admit, I do like a good surprise now and again. But my wedding?” He shook a finger at Celeborn and Finduilas. “I’ll get the two of you back for this,” he promised.

“Me?” squeaked Celeborn. “It was Fin’s idea!” he said, waving accusingly at Finduilas, who simply stared up at the ceiling and nodded as she smirked. “Along with Thaladir.”

“I merely planned it,” Thaladir answered, holding his hands up in redemption. When Thranduil turned his wicked gaze upon him, Thaladir added, “But truly, Master Erestor and your father deserve the majority of the credit.”

When Thranduil looked back to Finduilas, she poked Gwindor in the shoulder. “He persuaded me to do it; he practically forced me to present the idea to your father.”

“He got me drunk,” Gwindor replied, motioning his thumb in his brother’s direction.

Before Gelmir could come up with his own defense, Thranduil started to laugh. “Traitors, the whole lot of you! But, t’was for a good cause,” he decided, and once again his gaze fell to his newly wedded wife.

“So then, really, thanks are in order,” pressed Gelmir playfully.

“My thanks to you will be not to seek revenge. Could none of you have given me a clue? A hint? A blatent explanation ahead of time?” Amid the laughter, Thranduil felt Avisiel tense, and discretely he stepped behind her to bring her protectively in front of him. The mirth died down as Erestor approached and stepped into the empty spot created in the circle.

“My apologies for earlier,” he whispered to Thranduil below the noise of the crowded room. “The musicians request the presence of the happy couple so that we may begin with the dancing,” Erestor stated to the group. Playfully, Gwindor made an attempt to drag Finduilas to the open part of the gardens where lanterns had been hung and the harpers tuned their instruments. Gelmir grabbed his brother by the arm and spun him back around, while Celeborn made a sweeping motion with his arms that Thranduil and Avisiel should pass them by.

\- - -

Few dances had passed before the bridge and groom had gone off to retire for the evening – for the week or more, some had jested. A small but adequate apartment within the caves had been furnished for them as a wedding gift from the lord and lady, and with a delighted grin upon his face, Thranduil had carried his shy bride over the threshold and into their new home.

“Well.” Once the door was closed behind them and Avisiel situated with her feet upon the floor, Thranduil looked around, slightly unsure of how she expected him to proceed. He watched her nervously glide across the room to the large bed that was there. Her fingers lightly touched one of the spiraling poles that supported the canopy, pulling them away abruptly.

Thranduil frowned to himself, and then joined her across the room. At the end of the bed, the canopy had been pulled back, and he sat down upon it slowly. “I’m a little shaken myself,” he admitted as Avisiel turned her attentions to the fabric that hung down around the bed. “We don’t have to sleep together tonight, that is, we can sleep, we don’t have to...” he trailed off as she smiled to him and he smiled back. “Besides, we should break this mattress in,” he said playfully, testing it with one hand. “Jump up and down on it a bit, have a pillow fight or-“

Avisiel put her fingers against Thranduil’s lips, and he took her hand in silence and kissed it as she spoke. “I want you to make love to me,” she told him softly as he reached her wrist. “But I- I’m not ready to bond with you, yet.”

Pausing a little ways up her arm, Thranduil coaxed Avisiel over to sit on his lap, worry etched into his face. “Why not? What have I done?”

“Not you, you’ve done nothing,” she said rather quickly, stumbling over the words. Her hands found their way around his back and she hung onto him as he held her. “But when we bind our souls together, you will know about me, about my past- and about... about him...” Her voice was so low that Thranduil had to strain to hear it, his eyes darkening with jealousy.

“You had another...lover?” he guessed.

“No!” Clinging tighter, Avisiel promised, “There has only ever been you. But... there is something else. Something dreadful. And I must tell you of it.”

\- - -

“With all due respect,” said Thaladir, “you have got to be joking.”

“Nay, and you know something this serious is not something I would ever jest about.” Thranduil stood beside his good friend and confidant just outside of the caves, in an alcove of sorts. No one took note of them with all of the merriment that continued. Thaladir’s eyes scanned the crowd, falling upon the one they spoke of. “You still do not believe me,” said Thranduil.

Thaladir kept his eyes focused on the figure that moved through the crowd. “I do not wish to believe you. But if she believes this, it would explain much.”

“What is to be done?”

Slowly, Thaladir turned to face Thranduil. “We must know more, and tell no one. But you know as well as I do that this will culminate in a confrontation. If she is correct, it means our doom. If she is not, I fear we may not forgive ourselves for our error.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement, and the two entered into the caves, unseen by all but one.


	8. Chapter 8

In the shuffle through papers and maps and the sliding of doors and drawers, none of the three heard the door open, but they did hear it close. Erestor locked it behind him. “Perhaps, I can help you to find what you are looking for,” he said calmly, still holding a drink in one hand from the party.

Looking up or turning slowly, the three stood across the room and behind the largest of the desks in the office, all of them facing the dark elf who stepped forward. Thranduil took hold of Avisiel’s wrist and stepped so that he was in front of her as Thaladir slid a knife used to open sealed documents off of the top of the desk. “Halt right where you are,” Thranduil said in a commanding voice, his eyes scanning the area for some other weapons. “We know what you are up to, and we are not about to have others fall victim to your treachery.”

Erestor blinked a few times, looking at each of the three in turn. Only Avisiel shied her eyes from him, placing her hands on her husband’s shoulders and drawing herself nearer as she shook in fright. “I am not sure what sort of treachery it is you speak of, but I assure you-“

“Say nothing more; we know how you trick others with your words,” interrupted Thranduil, seizing a poker for the fire which had been left to rest up against the desk. “We have come to piece the puzzle together and know that you are not whom you claim to be, Morgoth.” Thranduil missed the warning look that Thaladir gave him as he finished his accusation. Across the room, Erestor’s expression turned from slight amusement to a clear look of hurt.

“If I were Morgoth,” began Erestor carefully, “which, I am not- but if I were, do you really believe the three of you would still be standing there unharmed?”

“Yes. For if you harm us, you would have to come up with an explanation,” spoke Thaladir. “Morgoth does not act rashly – he is one to carefully plan, in detail, as the ancient history recalls, and makes friends rather than enemies before smiting them down.”

Looking thoroughly unamused now, Erestor asked, “This is your proof? That both he and I pay attention to the details of a situation? That is poor evidence.”

“That is not all. Before you stands one who has seen him.” Thranduil glanced over his shoulder briefly, seeing the terror in Avisiel’s eyes. “She has said nothing since the day I brought you to her in the forest, living in fear for these years. It was her family, her tribe whom you lured from their homes, torturing them into the monstrous creatures who serve you.”

“Would not my hands be burned?” Erestor set the goblet he held on the top of a bookshelf, placing his hands before him with palms facing his accusers. “Would not my eyes be red?”

“Both are easily enough concealed,” Thranduil told him. “The final clue was your proclamation tonight. You did not name the Valar for you still think yourself one though you have fallen. The items which have been brought forth would be best announced before the king and council- Avisiel, go. Through that door there,” Thranduil instructed, pointing to a door nearer to them than the one Erestor had entered through. “Alert the king, tell him-“

“Wait!” Erestor looked at them with pained eyes, then turned his back to them and looked up, but not at the ceiling. It was if he was looking beyond the stone of the caves, speaking with his mind to someone. Thranduil tightened his grip upon the poker he held as Erestor turned to the side, glancing to them, then back up once more. With a heavy sigh, he shifted his gaze to them. “You are right. I am not who I say I am. But I am not Melkor, nor Morgoth, nor whatever name that demon has been given. I am Erestor, Orome’s son.”

“The hunter,” whispered Thaladir upon catching the confused look Avisiel had. “You are not elfkind, then.”

“I am,” defended Erestor. “My mother was one of the firstborn, awakened upon the shores. Her name was Tatie. My father was something of a leader before the days when the Eldar came to Aman, and he insisted upon having a son. All around him, the elves who had followed him had children, and their children had children, and so on, and he had no heir, no legacy. Orome took pity upon this, and did what he could.”

There was silence for a while, giving time for everyone to collect their thoughts. Thaladir made the first move, coming around the desk as he set the knife back down. He bowed his head and dropped down to one knee. Erestor rolled his eyes and threw his arms into the air as he came forward. He bent down and tried to pull Thaladir up by the arm. “Come on, get up,” he said, tugging on the younger elf’s arm.

“You are Tata’s son,” began Thaladir, staying knelt on the ground, “you are an elf of the stars, you are-“

“He had no sons. No children. I wasn’t his, my father was Orome, now get up.” Erestor’s voice was fierce and commanding, and Thranduil took a step back, pulling Avisiel next to him. Slowly, Thaladir stood, but he still kept his eyes lowered. “Look at me, Thaladir. I won’t have you showing reverence to the bastard child of the Valar.” Thaladir did look up, surprised. “There, not so difficult. Who else knows of your theory?”

Thranduil shook his head. “No one else. We came to... to find something else, something here to prove it without question before going to the elders.”

“You’re very brave to have done that. Stupid,” added Erestor, “for if I had been a threat to you, none would ever have known.” Erestor paused, and all three thought on his words. “I need to ask that you tell no one what you have learned.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You are beautiful,” remarked Thranduil, his hands encircling his wife’s waist as he whispered in her ear.

“I am ugly.”

“No, you are not,” he admonished, his lips kissing a trail down the side of her neck. “You are so full of grace and beauty,” he said, and she answered with a snort.

“I am fat.”

“On the contrary,” he argued gently, nuzzling his head against her shoulder. “One might say you are full of love, but you are not fat. You are perfect.”

Avisiel did not say anything for some time, leaning back happily against her husband. He massaged her shoulders and her back, and as he worked back up to her arms, she finally said, “I am hungry.”

“Well, I will not dispute that,” Thranduil said mirthfully.

“Shall I get you something, or do you fancy a walk to the hall for supper this evening?”

“Do you mind bringing something from the hall for me?” she began, but Thranduil was already off of the bed and on his feet. “I do not mean to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother, dearest,” Thranduil scolded playfully, fluffing the pillows before helping his wife to scoot back into them. “I love taking care of you,” he added as she smiled up at him. Dropping to one knee beside the canopied bed, he kissed her softly, and said, “What would you like me to bring for you?” Avisiel rested her hands over the one Thranduil had placed upon her swollen belly. “We would like something sweet. Something smooth, like a raspberry custard if there is any, or a cream pie.”

“The whole pie?” he inquired, but not rudely. He was quite certain if she were to request ten of them, he would simply nod and retrieve them for her and their soon to be born son. “What sort of pie, I am sure there are many of them.”

“Just half, and I would have anything but lemon. I do hate lemon pies,” she related to him, in case he had missed the first few hundred times she had mentioned this. Thranduil nodded and kissed her cheek. “Noted. Anything else, my love?”

“Mmm.” Turning her head and brushing her lips against his, she jerked back suddenly. “Water.”

“Just a glass, or-“

“No.”

“What would you-“ Thranduil would have patiently continued to gather of list of what Avisiel was craving this evening and brought it all back to their quarters, except that his eyes took in the look of panic in hers.

Glancing over her, he realized what she really meant, and stood up abruptly. “I will get the healer.” An arm snaked out and Thranduil’s wrist was captured by Avisiel’s slender fingers.

“Do not leave me,” she pleaded. “I do not want anyone here. Just you. Do not let anyone in here, please,” she whimpered.

“I-“ Thranduil struggled to find words, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “I will return to you as soon as I am able. Let me see who is at the door. I will not let them in,” he promised, having a fairly good idea who was on the other side.

Kissing her hand as he placed it back upon the green bedding, Thranduil rushed to the door and yanked it open. “Erestor.” Holding out one arm, Erestor offered the pile of fresh linens to Thranduil. “Good thing we came across one another in the hallway so that I could go and let your father know what was going on, so that you could return to your wife.” “Ah, yes, very good thing, that,” answered Thranduil, poking his head out and looking down the corridor in either direction to make sure no one was hearing them. Erestor smirked as soon as Thranduil was back in the room again. He held out his other hand, in which was a thick book.

“In case you need it, more something to make you feel at ease. It is a natural thing, you should have no difficulty guiding her through it,” explained Erestor calmly.

Thranduil took the book hastily and added it to the pile of linens. “We were going to have the healer here, but-“

“But you are a much better choice for it,” Erestor finished for him. “You should have no difficulty what-so-ever,” he said as he reached up above the doorway and pressed his fingertips over the door, tracing around the edge of it. “No trouble at all,” he answered as he bent his knees and brought his hands back together across the floor of the entryway.

“Now go back, I will get your father for you.”

“Thank you. Wait, Erestor?” Thranduil took a deep breath and said softly, “Erestor, I have never done this before.”

Erestor motioned that Thranduil should lean forward. “Neither has she,” he whispered back, pointing past Thranduil and into the room. “When it comes to it,” he added, “You are going to have a much easier night than she will.” Straightening up again, Erestor said, “I shall return with your father.”

“Thank you, Erestor,” Thranduil managed, but not until the older elf was halfway down the hall. Shutting the door, Thranduil locked it as an afterthought, and returned to his wife, taking a deep breath and saying a silent prayer to the rest of the valar.

\- - -

“Erestor, you have to help me,” hissed Thranduil through the door. His hand gripped the handle, covering it with blood. His head rested on the wooden panel that separated him from the elf he was pleading with and Thaladir. His father, who had stood on the other side of the door to guide him during the delivery of his first child, Ilmendin, was watching the young boy now. Thranduil himself began to sob as he heard the agonizing cries from his wife in the other room. “Erestor, do that thing you did the first time, with the doorway.”

“Thranduil, if I could do something,” explained Erestor helplessly, “if I could do anything, I would be doing it. That was nothing, it meant nothing. It was to give you confidence. There is nothing I can do, Thranduil, or I would.”

There was a pause, and then Thaladir said in a voice calmer than either of the others, “Thranduil, please, allow me to enter. I shall send Erestor for a healer, and-“

“No, she does not want that.” Thranduil brought one hand up to pinch his nose and rub his tears away, leaving a streak of red across one cheek. “Erestor, is there anyone, can you- can you pray to them, can you ask them-“

Hearing the renewed cries of his wife, Thranduil left the doorway and came back into the bedroom, falling to his knees beside the open section of the canopy at the end of the bed. Leaning his forehead against the mattress, he folded his hands together and said aloud, “Blessed Eru, or whomever might be listening, I have never asked for power, I have never desired riches. I am not the best elf, but I live the best I can.” His voice cracked and he looked up, through the gently waving blue-green fabric that encircled the bed. “Please do not take her away from me, Mandos, because I do not know what I would do. I just do not know,” he admitted as tears ran down his cheeks again.

“All I want is a family, that is all, that is all I have ever really wanted. Please do not take that from me. He... he is early, he is too early, but...” Thranduil looked down the length of the bed, at the distress his wife was in. She had panicked more than this earlier, but she was weakening. Ever since the realization had come to them both that their child was not in position to be born, that he was slowly being strangled within his mother’s womb, Avisiel had been in a fit of inconsolable madness. Now, her breathing was slower, her whimpers no more than low moans.

“You probably hear this all the time,” Thranduil said, looking skyward once more. “But I have never asked for anything from you before, and I will not ask for anything again, just please give us a chance, please let us be a family. Please.” He looked up as Avisiel’s weary voice broke through his pleas, a tired scream following after incoherent mumbling. Thranduil crawled up onto the mattress, clenching his teeth and shaking his head to find one tiny limb protruding from where he would have expected to have seen a head. It was limp and cold as he touched, nearly breaking down.

“He is stuck, he is stuck, he can not breath,” sobbed Avisiel, her hands clawing at her sides as if she could do something to help her son. Thranduil took a deep breath and closed his eyes, repeating his pleas to anyone who was listening as he dried his eyes again and pulled a clean cloth from the pile beside Avisiel.

\- - -

“Lord Eru  
Who dwells among stars  
Sacred is your naming  
As is your will  
To be fulfilled  
Guide us in your singing”

“Erestor, is there nothing you can do?”

Pale and looking worn, Erestor looked up from where he was sitting, with his knees draw up to his chest, beside the door. His hands were still folded in prayer. “I am doing all I can think to do, Thaladir.”

“I could not bear to deal with that,” Thaladir said as Avisiel cried out on the other side of the door. Looking down at Erestor with his arms crossed over his chest, he said, “I am never having children. I will not put anyone through such torment.” Erestor said nothing, simply bowing his head once more.

“Help us to choose that which is our path  
And forgive those who will forsake it-“

The door was flung open, knocking Erestor squarely in the left knee. Grimacing as he yelped, Erestor heard Thranduil manage between relieved pants, “It is a boy. He is so tiny, but, but he is alive, and, and Avisiel, and... Thaladir, where is Erestor?”

As Thaladir opened his mouth to explain, Erestor managed to hobble around the doorway. “Congratulations, Ada,” he said with a wink, despite holding his knee and wincing. “I will get your parents and your son, no doubt Ilmendin will want to see his baby brother.”

“Ah, well, ah, Erestor.” Thranduil waited for Erestor to turn around. “Maybe... maybe it is best to wait until tomorrow for Ilmendin to come back, Avisiel... she is very weak, I do not know if it is best for Ilmendin-“

Erestor held up his hand and gave a nod, and walked down the hallway, stepping down carefully with his left leg each time he had to. Thranduil ushered Thaladir into the room and shut the door. “Avisiel has- we both have, actually, a request to make. She meant to ask you before now, but- well, I best just ask. Thaladir, you’ve been a good friend, a confidant for both of us; on the few occasions I might have found myself sleeping in a cot in the hallway, you have managed to help us through things. Well, we thought, perhaps- we thought you might name him.”

As the question was finally revealed, Thaladir’s face fell. “Thranduil, it is not proper. I am honored you would think such a thing, but I am not part of your house.”

“That does not matter to us,” explained Thranduil, leading Thaladir into the adjoining room. Avisiel was nearly asleep, cradling the tiny newborn as he struggled to nurse. Thranduil stepped over a pile of discarded sheets and linens to the freshly-made bed Avisiel was resting in. “If that is the case, why not Celeborn? Finduilas? They stood up at your wedding.”

“Thaladir, at the time, we were all fast friends. How often do I see either of them anymore? Barely at all,” Thranduil answered for himself. “I settled down, they still frolic the grounds like a group barely past their majorities. I grew up, they did not,” he said as he helped to hold his son so that Avisiel could relax a little more.

“You certainly did,” agreed Erestor as he entered with Oropher, but his words were too soft for Thranduil to hear them. “Thranduil, Ilmendin was already asleep,” he said, announcing his presence, “but I brought your father.” Oropher stepped forward and sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping his weight forward on his legs so that he would not disturb mother or child.

“Look at those bright blue eyes,” he remarked of his grandson, and with two large fingers stroked the wisps of blond hair away from the baby’s face. “Another little Greenleaf in our house,” he said proudly as Thaladir tried to edge from the room.

“Thaladir,” warned Thranduil, “I expect you to give my son a proper name before you leave.” For a moment, it still appeared Thaladir might have tried to escape, and it did not much seem as if Erestor was going to attempt to stop him.

“I think the name your father used is... quite appropriate,” he finally said. “Thaladir, it is the name of our house, not the name of my child,” Thranduil answered.

Stepping forward again, Thaladir bent down and took the newborn’s hand between his thumb and index finger very gently, for the entire baby was scarcely bigger than his whole hand. “By the will of your parents, I give you the named Legolas.”

“Very funny, Thaladir,” laughed Thranduil as the older elf stepped away. “Seriously, Thaladir, will you please name my son?”

“Goodnight, Oropher. Erestor.” Thaladir bowed to each of them in turn. “My congratulations to you both,” he said to the couple.

“Thaladir, he needs a name,” replied Thranduil.

“A very happy begetting day, young Legolas,” said Thaladir, bowing to the small child. “May it be the first of many.”

“Thaladir!” Thranduil rose up and followed his friend to the door, but by the time he reached it, the other elf had disappeared. Entering the room again, Thranduil shook his head. “I suppose he thinks it to be some joke,” he muttered as he passed by Erestor. Erestor shrugged.

“I would tend to think that it was a joke, Thranduil, except for one very important detail.”

“And that would be?” Thranduil pressed.

With a very serious look, Erestor answered, “Thaladir does not joke.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You’re late, again,” announced Erestor quietly as Thranduil entered the library, but he smiled and waved him into the empty chair beside the one Thaladir sat in. Lifting the latch on the gate that separated the archivists and their aides from the researchers, writers, and scribes in the main room, Thranduil relaxed in the chair, rubbing his sleepy but sparkling eyes. “Is he walking yet?”

“No, but he said ‘foot’ last night and ‘hand’, so all I’ve heard throughout the night was shouts of ‘tal, tal, tal!’ and ‘ma, ma, ma!’. Oh, and ‘fin’, he knows that one, too,” Thranduil said with a wry smile, and the strands of hair escaping from his slightly tugged upon braids seemed to confirm this.

Lifting up a large, multi-faceted stone that had been sitting over sheets of a manuscript, Erestor set it back down on the edge of the desk Thranduil was closest too. “He’ll be on his feet running all about before you know it. He’s so energetic, quite a lot like you were,” reminisced the dark elf. “How is Avisiel?”

“Busy as ever with both of them a handful apiece,” admitted Thranduil. “But she loves it. I think having the elflings brought her some sort of calm that I could not. Some sort of belonging. Are you still sure about watching them for the evening?”

Erestor nodded enthusiastically. “I already cleared everything in my rooms so that anything they might get into is up on shelves too high for them to reach, and I have a whole pile of scrap parchment and a new paintbox for Ilmendin to play with, and some small amusements for Legolas, and I’ve cleared it with the kitchens to have them bring something by for supper, so I promise to return them to you happy and fed.”

“With all the excitement, they’ll most likely be asleep,” added Thaladir, who had spread out the work schedule for his archers and was making notations on the different rotations in the logbook that was kept in the library. “Erestor, we need to find a wife for you so that you can stop borrowing everyone else’s children and have a few of your own.”

“And rid Doriath of its favorite elfling watcher? You speak blasphemy!” joked Thranduil, nudging Thaladir so that he would look up at him. “Erestor is practically the only thing keeping most of the parents in these caves sane!”

Trying to discretely rub his cheeks to hide the blush from the praise of appreciation he was given, Erestor said, “I am content to spoil everyone else’s elflings; in due time, I’ll have my own, I hope. Well, to business, then. Thranduil, I need you to decipher a message that came from an elf named Turgon. I think you may want to use the arken,” he added as Thranduil began to stand, tapping on the clear and flawless stone that was used to magnify text and images. “he wrote the characters rather small.”

Thranduil picked up the stone and carried it a few feet away where his own desk was, neat and uncluttered with things set out in small, orderly fashion. A stack of clean parchment, quills and ink at the ready, the blotter pages freshly set in the middle of the wooden surface. On the left side of the desk, a single document awaited his cryptography skills, to be deciphered and rewritten and passed on to the King. In a basket, six or seven scrolls, loosely tied, waited to be encrypted and sent. The desk held all the necessary waxes and seals he would need for later, but he preferred to finish all of one type of task at a time before moving on to the next. With one hand, he slid the letter from Turgon to the center and then placed the stone upon it.

For some time, the only sounds were the scratching of poorer made quills upon paper and the steady, soothing sound of Erestor binding folios into tomes, drawing the heavy thread through the sheets and weaving the needle in and out of the thick paper he worked on. The clamor of three armored guards, therefore, caused everyone in the room to look up. “May I help you?” questioned Erestor, standing as the trio approached the desk, each of the three looking about, attempting to apparently find the entry to the work area.

Guilin gave Erestor a look of sincerest apology as he unraveled a ribbon that tied a document that had obviously been sealed by Thingol himself. “Erestor. By order of the King, you are forthwith to be placed under arrest and escorted to his highness’s royal dungeons to await sentencing for crimes knowingly committed.”

“Crimes? Knowingly committed? Guilin, what madness is this?” demanded Thranduil, who was up out of his chair and stalking toward the guard. Placing his palms on the counter and leaning closer, he asked, “What charges can possibly be brought up against him?”

“The both of you, hush. You’re in a library,” scolded Erestor, whose immediate shock seemed to have been brushed aside. “I imagine you are about to explain to me just what I am being accused of?” His hands were folded before him on the desk, the sewing left forgotten. Thaladir was silent, but he was leaning a little closer toward the counter to hear what was about to be said.

Guilin rolled the scroll and shook his head. “Even I do not know what the charges are, Erestor. You must come with me now.” As Erestor stood, he withdrew a ring of keys from his pocket and handed them silently to Thaladir as he walked around the desk. Once on the other side of the counter, he was motioned closer by Guilin. “I am sorry to do this, but it is protocol to restrain your hands. If you want, I can fix it so that your sleeves conceal them while we walk the hall.”

Thranduil glared at Guilin, though he had never had reason to dislike him, and knew he was only following orders now, the taste in his mouth was bitter as he watched Guilin flick two fingers. One of the guards recognized the signal and brought forward the shackles he had. Briefly, Thranduil caught the defiance in Erestor’s eyes, and wondered if he was about to put up a fight. Instead, the older elf simply raised his arms up to shake down the wide sleeves of the open robe he wore over his tunic and presented his wrists to the captain. “If you must,” Erestor answered in a very bored sounding voice. As Guilin positioned his hands, Erestor looked toward the counter and said, “Thranduil, when you have a moment, if you wouldn’t mind telling your father-“

“I regret I must inform you that Lord Oropher has been arrested as well.” Guilin slid the bolt through the middle of the steel manacles, and then tightened it until it was secure. He snapped the lock shut and nodded to the pair of guards, unable to look either Erestor or Thranduil in the eyes. “Your charge,” he said to the closest guard, handing him the scroll.

\- - -

“They won’t let me see them, they won’t say why they’ve taken them!” Thranduil was storming away from the dungeons while Thaladir tried to keep up with him without running. “I can’t believe the king has had them thrown in the dungeons!”

“Thranduil, I-“

“Without cause! Without reason!” Thranduil’s steps quickened, and a group of young ladies moved to the side of the passageway, clutching their baskets as they clung to each other as Thranduil in his fury marched past them. “Where is he, that he could not come himself? How brave is the king who cannot issue the sentence with his own tongue?”

“Thranduil, I-“

“We shall soon find out,” growled Thranduil as he reached the door to his home. Shoving it open with such force that Avisiel jumped and Legolas began to cry in his mother’s arms, Thranduil spied his sword. He rarely carried it, but was still proficient with it. It was Thaladir who reached it first.

“Thranduil, I know this is difficult for you, but you have to stop and think.” Thaladir, his hands still holding the sword, walked back to the door and shut it as Ilmendin peeked around the corner of the nursery room.

“Adar? Did you come home to have lunch with us? It’s early for you to come home.” The little dark haired elfling approached his father and leaned against his leg, looking up. “Are you here for lunch?” he inquired again, wrapping his arms around his father’s knee.

“Thranduil.” Thaladir placed the sword aside as Thranduil bent down and picked up Ilmendin. “There are obvious reasons that rushing off to confront Thingol would be unwise. We must go about matters logically. If you would have listened to me instead of storming down the hall, I would have told you that my rank permits me to enter the dungeons and make inquiries you can not. If I were you, I would see to your mother. Does she know your father has been arrested yet?”

“Oropher has been arrested?” questioned Avisiel suddenly as Ilmendin whined and clutched his father tightly, asking, “Why did they take Grandada?”

“That’s what we are going to find out,” said Thranduil, kissing the top of his son’s head. “Avisiel, could you…?” His wife nodded, and took Legolas, still whimpering, into the nursery. His cries erupted again once Avisiel exited the room, lowering Ilmendin into her arms. “I have to speak with my mother,” he said to Avisiel, stroking Ilmendin’s head. The elfling had his face buried against his mother’s shoulder, but was not as vocal as his younger brother, who had no real idea what was going on. “They came into the archives and arrested Erestor-“

“Oh, no,” Avisiel moved closer, wrapping one arm around her husband while the other kept her son snuggled close to her. “Are they- are you-“

Thranduil shook his head. “I don’t think they mean to arrest me; I don’t have a clue what is going on. I have to find my mother, I’ll probably bring her back here.”

“I’ll ready things for her. We can move the crib in our room and she can have Ilmendin’s bed,” Avisiel said quickly. “Go, find her, but hurry back to me.” She gave a little sob as her husband tightly hugged her and their son. “Hurry, please.”

“I will. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” Thranduil and Thaladir exited into the hallway and began to whisper as soon as the door was closed. “You can find out what is going on?”

“I shall do my best,” vowed Thaladir. “Let us both go to your mother, then I shall escort you back to your rooms.”

Glancing at his friend, Thranduil asked, “You don’t trust that I will not go to the dungeons, do you?”

“I trust you will do what you deem the best course of action. I trust you care about your family enough not to do something foolish, if you truly think about it. However, I do not trust all of the guards. It surprised me to see Guilin this morning. It is best for me to accompany you in case you are intercepted.”

The house of Oropher was not far from that of his son, and the pair arrived to find the door ajar. Cautiously Thranduil entered first, finding darkness, then stumbling into the breakfast table, which had been overturned. “Naneth?” he called out, kicking the broken shards of a bowl out of his way.

“Thranduil?” The voice that answered was hoarse, and out of the darkness of one of the corners rose a slender figure, her normally cheerful expression replaced with one of grief. “Thranduil, they came, this morning, they took him...” She trailed off as her son stepped swiftly around the clutter and pulled her up from her knees, holding her up as she gripped his arm for support. “He fought them, I told him not to, he beat two of them off, and then, I don’t know how many more were outside, and they all came in and dragged him off in chains…” Her body shook as Thranduil drew her close, gritting his teeth and fixing his fierce look of rage in the direction of the ceiling. “Why? Why? I don’t know why.”

“Erestor was arrested, too,” spoke Thaladir as he took a cloak down from a peg near the door. He placed it around the elleth’s shoulders. “Thranduil, why don’t you gather a few things for your mother to take. I’ll stay with her.”

“Where am I going?” she questioned as Thranduil nodded and left his mother in Thaladir’s care.

“It is best you are with your family, Lady Hisré. I am going to investigate while Thranduil takes you to his home,” explained Thaladir.

For a little while, nothing more was said. Thranduil returned with a sack of items he had retrieved and offered his arm to his mother. As they were about to leave, she took hold of Thaladir’s hand and squeezed it. “Thaladir, there’s a blanket on the back of the sofa. Will you be able to take it to my husband? His feet get terribly cold, and I fear there will be a chill in the dungeons.” Thaladir nodded silently as he went back into the house, leaving Thranduil to lead his mother down the hall.


	11. Chapter 11

Thranduil waited until the heavy door was shut and barred on the other side before pulling a stool along the stone floor and setting it at close as he could to the locked cel. Surrounded on three sides by hewn rock, the side facing out was barred by steel and only a dim light came from a torch on the side he was on.

On the other side, sitting in a corner with his arms behind his head, Oropher opened one eye, looking not at all surprised to see his son. Erestor looked up, having had his head bowed against his drawn up knees, and let out a sigh. “How did you get in here?”

“Between Thaladir and I, we convinced Thingol you should have counsel. I would have been here sooner, but the first plea we made was just to the king, and he would not listen to us. It was actually Luthien who convinced her father there was nothing fair about the way this matter was being handled, thank Eru that he listened. How are you?” asked Thranduil, frowning at the state of the prison his father and mentor were in.

“Cold, but don’t let your mother know that.” Oropher lifted up a plate with the remains of breakfast upon it. “They are feeding us, so worry not about our health. The waste facilities could be a bit nicer, but at least they send in a boy to clean that corner out and add fresh straw every night. They did neglect beds, however, something I intend to bring up to Thingol. Apparently, no one is usually left down here this long,” concluded Oropher sarcastically. He turned to his cellmate. “Any complaints you would like to log, Erestor?”

“Tell Thingol he can do as he wishes to me, but your father is innocent,” began Erestor, but Oropher interrupted him and shook his head.

“They already know I knew you were a Noldo. What I should have said when they asked ‘Is he of Finarfin’s kin?’ was ‘Does he look like a kinslayer?’”

“Oropher, please!” Erestor looked at the closed door with fright, worried though they did not speak loud enough for the sound to pass through.

Thranduil looked back at his father, who wore an expression he recalled seeing when he was young, when he did something highly displeasing. “See here, lad,” Oropher said sternly. “There is no reason for you to keep protecting her. She did horrible things – to you, to other Eldar, to the Valar and Eru himself. One does not take life without cause the way she and her brothers and the rest of them did. If it comes to it, Erestor, I will tell Thingol just how ‘respectable’ his family is. I will not see harm come to you for the sins of Feanor and his followers.”

“Do we know how he found out you weren’t Telerin, Erestor?” questioned Thranduil.

Erestor shook his head. “Someone had to have told him. I don’t know who.”

“I told you bringing Orodreth’s children and that bastard child of Finrod here was poor judgment.” Oropher waited for Erestor’s rebuttle to this or his former argument, but the scribe bowed his head in defeat. “Erestor, I know you meant well,” sighed Oropher, “but the truth is, and this may sound callus, but I don’t so much care what happens to them as I do what happens to you. I look out for my own, for my family, whether they be Telerin or Noldorin, or Sindarin, whatever it is they call themselves on this side of the sea. It is a very small group, but I think of you, and of Thaladir, as I think of my own son,” he said, motioning to Thranduil. “The thought of someone speaking ill against you and not having the courage to announce who they are sickens me. When we are released-“

“If we are released,” mumbled Erestor.

“When, and it is when from now on!” When Erestor did not further object, Oropher continued. “When we are released, the plan we have discussed these last few weeks- I will not take those three with us. Nor will I allow any of them into my realm. I care not what race they are- those who have brought death for no reason but personal gain, whether they were deceived or not, shall have no place in my kingdom.”

Thranduil waved his hand to gain the attention of his father. “Excuse me, please, what realm and kingdom is this that you are talking about?” He wondered if the time spent locked in the dungeon had somehow fevered his father.

“The realm we’re going to found. I shall fill you in later, when we get out.” Oropher tossed a challenging look in Erestor’s direction, in case he would dispute the validity of this claim, but he did not. “Is Legolas walking yet?” Thranduil shook his head. “Good. Tell him he has to wait until I can be around to see it. How is Ilmendin?”

“He is upset that he cannot see you, same as the rest of us I suppose, but without complete understanding of the situation.” Thranduil looked to the door as the key was heard in the lock. “My time has expired,” he said sadly. Quickly, he looked back at the pair in the cel. “What can I do? What should I tell Naneth?”

“Tell her I love her and I shall be home as soon as I am able,” promised Oropher as the guard opened the door and cleared his throat. “And... lie about the conditions down here,” he said. “I don’t want to worry her more than she already is.”

Erestor shook his head when Thranduil looked at him. Nodding, Thranduil stood up and took hold of the nearest steel bar and gave it a squeeze, then walked to the door and stepped back into the watchroom. He waited as the heavy door was pushed back into place, a bolt sliding into the rock of the wall, and finally, the heavy lock snapped shut. As the guard walked back to his post a few feet away, Thranduil came forward and placed his hand upon the door, resting his forehead against it.

\- - -

Thranduil barely slept for days as he awaited word regarding the accusations made against his father and Erestor. It was in the early morning hours of his off day that he heard a knock upon the door. Standing up from where he sat staring at painting on the wall that his father had given him, he swiftly answered the door.

“Your father is back home. He does not want you to wake your mother if she is sleeping. He assumed you might still be awake.” Thaladir kept his voice low.

“And Erestor? Where is he?” Thranduil grabbed a shirt he had discarded earlier from the floor and tugged it over his head. “Is he alright?”

“He’s there, too,” explained Thaladir as they left and walked swiftly down the hallway. “I managed to convince Thingol – actually, I convinced Melian, and she spoke to Thingol. Regardless, your father and Erestor are under house arrest, in my custody, until their trial.” Thranduil’s shoulders sagged, and Thaladir gave him an awkward but somewhat reassuring pat on the shoulder. “They still have to answer for the charges, although neither has denied them. I do not know what Thingol plans to do; I do not think he actually wants to impose a sentence upon either of them.”

“He could simply accept that although Erestor has no chance of being related to him, that he has done nothing wrong, and in fact has enhanced life here in Doriath for the better.” Arriving at the door, Thranduil made to knock, but Thaladir took hold of the handle and merely entered. The scene was not much different from what was happening in the cel, except that Erestor now had room to pace.

“Oropher, all you need to do is say you didn’t know I was a Noldo until we arrived here, and that you were afraid for your family or something like that, and said nothing. You have a wife, you have a family, you-“ Erestor paused and waited for the door to be closed. “Thranduil, talk some sense into your father.”

“Thranduil, how are my grandsons doing?” questioned Oropher. “Is Legolas walking yet?”

“Not yet.” Thranduil tried to remain casual as he entered the room, but as soon as his father raised an arm to beckon him forward, he took three long strides to the couch and embraced him. “I missed you, Ada. There are so many things I took for granted until now.”

“This is a different world. I am not ashamed to tell you, for the first time in my life I find there are things which I fear.” Oropher patted his son on the back.

The door opened a moment later and Hisré entered, dropping the shawl that was held loosely around her shoulders, crying out in a mix of surprise and happiness. She tried her best to wrap her arms around both her husband and her son at the same time. “I thought I felt you nearer. I haven’t been able to bear it without you.”

Oropher pulled Hisré down into his lap and kissed her once rather sweetly, and again with a hungry passion. “I missed you,” he replied in something of an explanation.

“My, you’ve not done that in years,” smiled Hisré, blushing as she tried to slide from her husband’s lap, but he held her firmly with her arms around her waist.

“Get used to it. I am taking my cue from our son’s philosophical mind.” Oropher winked at Thranduil as the door opened yet again, pushed forward by Ilmendin with both hands. Avisiel cradled Legolas in her arms as she stepped into the room. “He was asking for you,” she said as Thranduil stood up and approached. “He woke the moment you left.”

“A-dadadadadadah,” added Legolas, opening and closing his fist and waving his arm in Thranduil’s direction. Thranduil wrapped his arms around his younger son and took him to the couch. As soon as Legolas saw his grandfather, his tune changed. “M-pah! M-pah!” Small arms flailed in Oropher’s direction.

“Good day to you, little mischief.” With Hisré still upon his lap, Oropher took each of Legolas’ hands in between two of his fingers on each of his own hands and played the ‘You can try to pull me but I’m far too big for you game’ while Legolas made nonsense noises and drooled. Ilmendin marched himself to his father and leaned against one of Thranduil’s legs, wrapping his arms around his knee.

Burying his face against his father’s pants he mumbled something incoherent. “Ilmendin, please speak to us, not to yourself.”

“Is it time for breakfast? I’m hungry,” he complained before burying his face again.

Avisiel began to stand, but Hisré waved a hand and got up instead. “This is my home, and you have done all of the cooking these past weeks. Let me take care of breakfast, please. I may need to fetch a few things- Erestor, can you run and see if the market is open, I don’t have any eggs or milk.”

Erestor began to open his mouth, but Thaladir stepped in before explanations needed to be made. “I shall get what you need. Is there anything more?”

“Butter, and perhaps- well, let me make a list.” Hisré wrote out the items she needed and handed it to Thaladir. On her way into the kitchen, she looped her arm through Erestor’s as he was midpace and pulled him along with her. “Come, you can help me make pancakes.”

“I can’t cook,” began his protest, which was drowned out by Ilmendin’s sudden sobbing.

Passing Legolas to Oropher, Thranduil picked up the older boy and placed him on his lap. “What are you crying about, young ellon?”

“Innas said Grandfather will be made to go away. And Erestor, too.” Ilmendin clung to his father and looked to Oropher. “He says you did bad stuff, but I told him he was lying, and then I hit him and Lady Finduilas made me sit on the time out stool.”

Thranduil looked immediately over to his wife. “Did you know about this?”

Avisiel nodded apologetically. “I didn’t want you to have any more grief than you already did. Finduilas asked me not to send him this week, at least not until things were sorted out.”

“Ilmendin, you cannot hit people just because you don’t like what they say,” said Thranduil as Thaladir reentered and carried two baskets silently to the kitchen.

More tears welled in the boy’s eyes, and he drew his lip down in a pout. “He was being mean. Innas said Erestor was not good. He said he has no right to be here. He said Grandfather was bad, too. But he isn’t. It made me mad.”

“Then you need to tell your teacher.” Thranduil did not want to admit that what he was hearing was making him mad as well. Snuggling Ilmendin to him, he rubbed circles around his son’s back with one hand. “A lot of things have been said that I do not like, things I did not agree with, or things I knew were not true. We just have to think about what we do before we do it, and try to talk about things instead of being violent and hurting others.”

“Oh, bother,” came Erestor’s voice from the other room.

“Whoops. Well... green pancakes will be interesting,” Hisré said.

\- - -

“Terribly sorry that we don’t have a table,” apologized Hisré halfway through breakfast. The group was in the sitting room, with the ellyn sitting on the couch and chairs and the ellith on the floor with the children.

“This is much more comfortable, my dear,” countered Oropher. “I may well request we always dine here.”

“Ada,” began Thranduil, thinking it a good time to try to interject, but he was told sharply, “I told you I don’t wish to discuss it now,” effectively silencing Thranduil. Across the room, Erestor was spending more time pushing food around his plate than he was spending actually eating anything.

Thaladir, perhaps sensing the tension, settled his fork to rest on the plate that was in his lap and said as he retrieved his glass from the end table, “Next week is the Queen’s Feast. I convinced Melian that it would be a terrible shame to keep the two of you from it. It was arranged that you shall have leave to attend, if you so choose.”

“That is very kind of her. I think we shall go,” Oropher answered, not giving Erestor a chance to make his own decision about it. “Twelve years now since the last one, would be a pity to miss it.”

Thranduil paused mid-bite of an off-colored pancake to figure out why his father would be thinking the wife of his accuser kind. His attention was quickly drawn to the floor, where a chunk of eggs hit his knees. “Ilmendin, what are you doing?” he asked sternly.

“He doesn’t want to eat, I think he’s T-I-R-E-D,” explained Avisiel, taking hold of Ilmendin’s wrist before he could fling another handful of food across the room. The elfling squirmed and growled and protested, and finally, screamed.

“I’m so sorry,” Avisiel said, trying to get Ilmendin to stand up. “Little one, it is naptime, on your feet, right now,” she demanded, trying to lift him up when he refused to stand. Ilmendin wriggled around and practically flung himself to the floor.

“Ilmendin,” hissed Thranduil, “that is quite enough! Get up, right now!”

Avisiel tried again to pull her son from the ground, his hands fisted in the strands of the rug. She was shadowed by a tall figure a moment later.

“Ilmendin.” The child stopped his wailing at the sound of the foreign voice, and was picked up from the floor as he looked up, and placed upon his feet when they dangled down. “I think you owe your parents an apology for embarrassing them.” Ilmendin stomped on the floor with both feet and growled again. Without blinking an eye, Erestor grabbed the youth’s shoulder, turned him around, and firmly swatted his rear.

Ilmendin’s eyes widened as Erestor repeated himself. “An apology is due your parents.” The lad mumbled something and found himself on the receiving end once more. “A respectful apology, and I do not think I need tell you what that means.”

Clenching his chubby little hands into fists, Ilmendin fought back his tears and said, “I am sorry, nana and ada.”

“Now, a nap for you.” Erestor hoisted Ilmendin up and carried him off to what had once been Thranduil’s room while living with his parents.

As soon as the door closed, the dam broke. “Adar, how could you keep eating through that? He just disciplined my son, and you sat sipping your tea!”

Oropher glanced over at his enraged son. “Thranduil, though I know it is your nature to spare the rod and spoil the child. You too often pamper that boy beyond control. You must give him limits. What you perhaps do not recall in Valinor was that if you were to have misbehaved and I was not around, I would not have thought ill of the ellon who took a switch to your backside if you were deserving of it.”

Thranduil shifted slightly, remembering more than once when such a thing had occurred. “That’s different, though. Ilmendin is my son.”

“I do not see the difference, my child. If anything, you should feel better that it is Erestor. He is like a part of the family- well, as is Thaladir, like part of our small clan. I would think you would want one of them disciplining Ilmendin than some stranger,” reasoned Oropher.

“I don’t spank children,” spoke Thaladir, nearly smirking, as if somehow this were a joke.

“Well... still.” Thranduil looked over to the closed door, to his wife, who was also looking in the direction of the closed door as if she would much rather have dealt with the situation herself, and back again. “Wonder how he would like it,” he muttered, “if someone were to slap him.”

“Thranduil, you make it sound as if he beat your child. He swatted a misbehaving little boy, which, really, you should have done it yourself,” said Oropher, earning a glare from Thranduil. “Second, for every swat you earned from me as a child, Erestor probably got four or five when he was your age. You think your son misbehaves?” Oropher shook his head and rolled his eyes, and never said anything more on what exactly the tall, quiet elf had done in his childhood to earn such gestures.

With the talking having ceased, faint singing could be heard from behind the closed door, followed by giggles and laughter. Thranduil, soon followed by the rest, made their way to the doorway.

“A calf was born, just the other morn, a funny little thing  
She opened her eyes, flicked her ears, and then began to sing

Mee mee moo, mee mee moo, mee mee moo  
The incredible singing cow  
Mee mee moo, mee mee moo, mee mee moo  
Incredible, but that’s not all

On the day, before today, another strange new tune  
A lamb looked up, started to strut, and continued to croon

Trala baa, trala baa-baa-baa  
A marvelous singing sheep  
Trala baa, trala baa-baa-baa  
Marvelous, but I never get sleep

For a year ago, don’t you know, I thought I mentioned it then  
I came out of the house, looked up on the roof, to see a bugle blowing hen

Tootle-toot, tootle-toot, bwach, bwa-gawk!  
Peculiar chicken with a horn  
Tootle-toot, tootle-toot, bwach, bwa-gawk!  
How peculiar to wake in the morn

I should have known, when I built my home, it wasn’t an ordinary place  
When I saw the rats, with coats and hats, dancing with poise and grace

Shuffle shuffle, squeek, step, squeek  
Amazing rodents who dance  
Shuffle shuffle, squeak, step, squeak  
They’re amazing even at first glance

It’s a happy group, a merry troop, there’s not a thing we need  
But I have my hopes, for a goat, who can write and read.”

When Erestor stepped out of the room, he had to literally step over Oropher, who had laughed himself to the floor. “Shh, you’ll wake him,” was his only comment as he bypassed all of the adults, coming to Legolas, who, left to his own devices in the middle of the sitting room, was on his back gnawing on a green pancake. “Someone is a mess,” stated Erestor of the child who had somehow managed to get syrup into his golden hair.

“Oh, my.” Avisiel gingerly picked Legolas up and carried him to the washroom. As she set about scrubbing the babe clean, the rest of the adults picked up the remnants of breakfast and cleaned up the dishes.

“So, both of you will be staying here, then?” asked Thranduil of Thaladir as they sat down in the freshly cleaned sitting room. Thaladir nodded.

“I believe it is Avisiel’s former room that I will be using and Erestor in yours. It will be odd getting used to the noise,” mused Thaladir. “Serenity is something one gets used to when living alone.”

“Ablahblah-ablahba!” A delighted Legolas emerged from the washroom in the arms of his mother. He was now wearing a long blue shirt and stockings on his feet instead of half of his uneaten meal. Grabbing hold of his mother’s ear, he repeated himself, and then happily announced, “Lhewig! Lhewig! Lhewig!” again and again.

Without a word, Avisiel passed the child to his father and sat as far away as she could, looking quite tired and perhaps in need of a nap herself. Unconsciously, Thranduil yawned.

“You two need some sleep. Why don’t you dears leave the children here with us? Erestor wouldn’t mind watching them, would you, Erestor?” Hisré didn’t give the Noldo a chance to speak. “The two of you, take a nap, rest a little, come over for dinner and you can pick the children up then. I’ll come and get you if we have any problems.”

Thranduil looked a bit apprehensive, but as Erestor stood up and approached, Legolas’ bright eyes fell upon the dark elf and he shouted, “Resser, Resser, Resser!” and gladly allowed himself to be transferred from his father’s arms to Erestor’s.

\- - -

“A duck says quack, and a cow goes moo  
Hens and roosters cock-a-doodle-doo  
Doggies bark and kittens mew  
But how does a fish say how do you do?”

Legolas clapped his hands and called out, “Againnow, Againnow, Againnow!”

“No, not again,” whispered Thranduil to his wife as they sat and listened to the thirty-somethingth singing of the same song. Erestor and Legolas were both sitting on the floor as Hisré finished with dinner. Thaladir and Oropher were speaking privately in another room.

Erestor, clearing his throat, shook his head. “No, not again,” he confirmed, having heard Thranduil. “Little one, there must be another song you like.”

Legolas simply stared up at Erestor, waiting anxiously, with his little mouth half open. When the song was not sung again, Legolas reached out and grabbed hold of a hank of Erestor’s hair and slowly pulled the older elf down to his level by his hair. “Againnow,” whispered the elfling to Erestor, who was attempting to free the precious strands from Legolas’ iron grip.

“Erestor, maybe you should try the violin again. Ilmendin isn’t here to object.” Hisré carried out a tray with bowls of chilled, sliced vegetables from the kitchen and set it on a side table. “I shall get it for you, but dinner should be ready soon.”

When Hisré returned, she found Erestor sitting on the floor with his shoulders slumped and a frown on his face. Legolas was teething on one of Erestor’s braids, making it a slobbery mess, while his parents tried their hardest not to laugh. Hisré sighed and shook her head. “I swear, that child will try putting everything he can’t eat into his mouth, but try to feed him, ha!” She handed the instrument and bow to Erestor, who took them as he offered Hisré his thanks.

“Please, please tell me you know a song that doesn’t have sheep or cows or pigs in it,” pleaded Thranduil.

“All my years in Valinor, I was a humble farmer. What do you expect?” Erestor brushed his hair over his shoulder on the side that Legolas was not chewing on and rested the fiddle between his shoulder and chin. “Farmers like simplicity. The land, the animals, that which grows from the ground.”

“So, that would be a ‘no’, would it?” Thranduil practically groaned.

“Well, we know a few other things. Love. Life. Faith. Important stuff.” Erestor tested the bow over the strings, paused to decide what to play, and began an upbeat tune, minding where Legolas was and where his elbow was going. The door down the hall creaked open, and Ilmendin peeked his head out.

Avisiel bent down as soon as Legolas dropped Erestor’s hair, mesmerized by the tune, and scooped her son up, sitting him on her lap. By now, Ilmendin had made it to the edge of the room, but he kept his hands covered over his ears and a foul look on his face.

“I saw the two trees die  
Watched fear linger in your eye  
It brought me to my knees that day

Bowed my head to cry  
Knew not what to do or why  
While I knelt upon the ground, I prayed”

During a brief musical interlude, Thranduil beckoned his older son to come and sit beside him. As soon as the child did as he was directed, with head bowed, he was pulled up onto his father’s lap and cuddled.

“Not for what was gone  
Or the will to carry on  
Nor for the troubled times that were ahead

But for what I had  
And without getting mad  
Prayed for those who killed my kin instead”

 

“Dinner!” Hisré brought out a basket of steaming bread, holding it with the edge of her apron as she set it down on the edge of the table with the vegetables. “Cupcake?” she shouted in no general direction.

“Yes, Pudding?” came Oropher’s answer.

Hisré walked in the direction of her husband’s voice. “Dinner, dearest. You, too, Thaladir, dear.”

As soon as everyone was in the sitting room eating goodly portions of beef stew with slices of warm buttered bread, Thranduil asked, “Was that one of your songs?”

“No,” admitted Erestor. “Cirdan wrote that.”

“Ah. That makes sense,” nodded Oropher. “I thought the tune was familiar.” He let a little time and conversation pass before remarking, “You play well, for not having practiced all this time.”

Erestor’s cheeks reddened. “I... really, really meant to stop over and play, but I always seem to be so busy, and-“

“This week should be productive for you, then,” interrupted Oropher. “Since you are stuck here with nothing else to do.”

Looking to be searching for an excuse, Erestor’s gaze wandered to the violin, set gently to lean against a cushion. “Well... ah...ah...”

“Againnow!” shouted Legolas, as if he thought he were helping Erestor remember what he meant to say. “Againnow, Againnow, Againnow, Againnow!”

“Looks as if you’ll have a tutor to keep you in line, too,” smirked Oropher as his grandson mimicked the bowing of a fiddle with his chunk of bread and a stick of carrot.


	12. Chapter 12

“Daeron, enough.” Thingol sighed as the musicians abruptly halted their playing and the court minstrel sang a note off-key before stopping himself. “This is a feast of great joy, not a time for you to air your personal grievances. If I hear another song of lover’s scorn from you... just go. I tire of your voice sometimes,” he muttered as Daeron stepped down from the platform. With a forlorn look, the minstrel bowed, his eyes shifting in an attempt to catch the favor of Luthien.

Once the chief bard had removed himself from the stage, Thingol motioned for the entertainment and dancing to continue. At a table far removed from the rest of the crowd, Oropher yawned, looking somewhat bored. “I rather liked that song,” he said, plucking another bunch of grapes from a bowl at the center of the table. Hisre and Thaladir were currently among the dancers, leaving Thranduil at the table with his father and Erestor. Avisiel, never one for parties, opted to stay at home with the children.

Without Daeron, the rest of the musicians were not as exciting to be heard. Though they had rhythm and intonation, they lacked any emotional quality. By the end of the song, most pairs were wandering out of the center of the hall and back to their tables. At the front of the room, Thingol drummed his fingers against the top of his table. Oropher smirked, nudging Erestor to look, but the scribe barely took notice before returning to the wine goblet he had been nursing.

“Is there no one else here who can sing?” demanded Thingol, standing up at his table.

Melian stood up suddenly beside him. “The feast has been splendid; perhaps everyone is simply tiring.”

Her air of grace and attempt to diffuse the situation did not work. Thingol had been scanning the room, and Thranduil grimaced behind his hand when the king’s eyes fell upon their table. “Erestor! Come up here; give us a song.”

Uneasily, Erestor glanced over at Oropher, and then slowly rose. Hisre and Thaladir had been on their way back, and he passed them as he slowly walked the length of the room. Everyone parted for him, leaving a wide path for him to walk. When he reached the head table, he stood before the king and queen. “You are requesting that I sing for you?”

“Is there wax in your ears? Yes, yes, and yes again!” Thingol made a dismissive motion in the direction of the stage, but Erestor did not go yet.

“Why do you want me to sing?” he questioned.

Elu Thingol let out a long, weary sigh. “This is the Queen’s Feast; she has made it known to me these past few weeks that she would delight in hearing you sing. You do wish to show respect to your queen, do you not?”

Cautiously, Erestor met Melian’s eyes with his, and she continued to smile. Thranduil held his breath- it seemed there was someone else who knew Erestor’s carefully hidden secret. With great concern, but trying to exude an appearance of indifference, Thranduil watched as Erestor walked up the stairs to the raised platform. He went to the musicians and obtained from one a stringed instrument that was much like a lute. Experimentally, he danced his finger up one string and down to find the chords while Thingol impatiently cleared his throat. “I apologize that this is not a song suitable for dancing,” said Erestor.

Erestor’s song was a mixture of ballad and something altogether indescribable, with fast notes and words, but nothing at all like a waltz. It was almost harsh with every chorus that he sang, making the normally beautiful Quenya sound like a curse:

 

I trusted you, protected you, never rejected you  
You were my stars, my sky, my life  
I cared for you, loved you, put nothing else above you  
I would have bound to you and made you my wife

But I was  
Just another stone in your path  
Now you’re facing the wrath  
You turned around without looking back at me

Left me to die  
And I’ll never know why  
But for you – I’ll cross the sea

I wasn’t  
Part of your plan  
Then to the East you ran  
Not a thought of what you’d do to me

You still hold my soul  
I want you to just let me go  
Why won’t you just set me free?

But I was  
Just another stone in your path  
Now you’re facing the wrath  
You turned around without looking back at me

Left me to die  
And I’ll never know why  
But for you – I’ll cross the sea

Somewhere in my mind  
I’m still with you  
In our little house  
The one with the view

When I come through the door  
At the end of the day  
I hold you close  
You tell me to stay

We sit close together  
I tuck our son into bed  
But none of that will happen now  
Because of everything you never said

I was  
Just a stone in your path  
Now you’re facing the wrath  
You turned around without looking back at me

I’d still do it all again  
Even knowing how it ends  
For you, my love, I crossed the sea

For you... I crossed the sea

Looking not at all pleased, Thingol stood up again amid the applause. “That,” he announced, “was rubbish.”

At the table in the back, Thranduil simply started to clap harder. His father gently forced his hands down onto the table as the cheer ceased.

“What sort of mockery was that?” demanded the king. Erestor looked down blankly at him from his spot on the stage, while the other musicians cringed. “Sing it again, so I can understand you. In Sindarin this time.”

As Thingol lowered himself into his seat, he heard something he probably did not expect to hear.

“No,” answered Erestor defiantly.

Melian paled and Luthien covered a hand over her mouth. “What did you say?” demanded Thingol, midway between sitting and standing.

“I will not sing it again for you, and I shall never sing it in Sindarin. It is not meant to be heard in that tongue, and I will not change it for you or anyone else.” Erestor released hold of the instrument, for its owner had rushed over to claim it before huddling once again with the others at the rear of the stage.

Regaining his full height, Thingol pointed at Erestor. “You have not been given leave to decide how you will and will not do things. I would be well within my rights as king to have you put to death.” Several gasps of disbelief came from throughout the room, and Melian put her hand upon Thingol’s arm. He shrugged her off. “Do not make me ask you again. I am your king.”

“You are not my king.” This was even more shocking to those in the hall than the words Thingol had just said, and there were even a few ladies who fainted. “You can ask me,” said Erestor, taking a step down from the stage. “You can tell me.” Another step. “You can even try to force me.” He was on the ground now and walked to Thingol. “But, no matter what, it will not happen. I cannot be faulted because you were too lazy to learn such a simple language.”

“Oh, Erestor, you should not have said that,” muttered Oropher, who had been watching everything as calmly as possible from the back of the room. Thranduil felt ill as he watched the king call for the guards. It was Thingol himself who took the manacles from Guilin and set about tightening the restraints on Erestor’s wrists before all those in attendance.

Thranduil reached the front of the room to hear Guilin advising Thingol. “M’lord, if you tighten them too tight, you’re going to break his wrists.”

“It would not be half the punishment I have in mind for him,” growled the king as he twisted the rod in the center once more. “Where are you going?” demanded Thingol as Thranduil made to follow after Guilin and Erestor.

“I have been assigned to him as counsel. It is my right to be with him.” Whether or not it truly was, Thranduil was unsure, but Thingol considered this for only a moment before motioning that Thranduil was given leave to exit the room. He caught up with the guards, and soon was in the dungeons again, with Erestor locked on one side, and he sitting on the other.

After the door of the main chamber was closed and locked, Erestor sank to the floor and began to shake. “What was I thinking?” he asked himself as he wrapped his arms around his chest. “Why did I do that?” His voice had jumped up nearly and octave, and Thranduil sat helplessly trying to think of a solution. “I’ve ruined everything. I just... threw away whatever chance- well, your father can still carry on his plans without me.” Erestor stared down at the floor. “I was never really much of a necessity when it came down to it.”

“Erestor, stop talking nonsense.” Thranduil waited for his mentor to look up. “Somehow, we will figure things out. I do not know how right at this moment, but there must be a way.”

“I will not apologize to him,” said Erestor sternly, his voice back to the low hush it normally was. “He does not deserve it, not for demanding such things of others with that haughty attitude of his.” They sat in silence for a while. “What do you think he will do to me?” asked Erestor at last, more to make conversation and less for really wanting Thranduil’s opinion from what the blond could tell.

“At worst, death. At best, banishment.” Thranduil shook his head. “Unless he still has some use or need for you...” A click was heard on the other side of the door. Thinking it was perhaps Thingol, Thranduil stood up and brushed back his hair to make himself a little more presentable. Into the chamber walked Melian, and the door behind her was closed but not locked. Thranduil bowed to the queen, but her gaze was set on Erestor.

Slowly, the maia approached the cell. “I wondered about you,” whispered Melian after the door had been closed. “I saw it in your eyes, the very first time I met you.”

Erestor did not deny or confirm whatever it was Melian referred to, but it was obvious. As a ainu, she would know another when she saw one, even one who was only half.

“All he wants,” hissed Melian, holding onto one of the cold metal bars for support, “is for you to denounce whatever king this is whom you claim is yours, and to accept him as your lord.”

“That I can not do,” answered Erestor. “I will not bow to him as being above my king and my lord.”

“And who is that?” Melian looked to Thranduil when Erestor simply laughed sardonically and picked at the straw on the ground. “Whom is he speaking about?” she demanded. “Is it your father? Is it Finwe? Who?”

Thranduil shook his head, not wanting to supply the answer for Erestor, but unsure of what to do as he was being asked a question by the queen herself. Erestor stood up suddenly, not bothering to dust off the straw that clung to his clothing. “Of whom do I speak? Hast thou been away from home so long, thou doest not recall thine own king and Lord?”

Melian took a step back, still holding onto the bar. “You can not seriously mean Him. Aye, He is our leader in spirit, but here, in Middle-earth, in Doriath, it is Thingol who is king.”

“Not my king. My king sits on a throne of gold, crafted by the hands of Aule, and surrounded by the songs of all his birds and the shadows of his clouds. My king is Manwe, and ever shall be, unless Illuvatar tells me otherwise.” Erestor was as close as he could get to the bars, holding onto one with each hand. “I am here because it is His will, not because it is yours. I am here because He wants me to be, for whatever reason, and I put my trust in Him.”

“Fine. If that is how you wish it, I shall speak with Manwe,” replied Melian, letting go of the bar. Her wrist was caught in Erestor’s hand, which had shot out from between the bars and grabbed hold of her. She flinched, but did not jerk away. Thranduil stood from his chair, but felt as if his feet would not move. Melian waited for Erestor to explain himself, which he did, but in a voice Thranduil had not heard before. It both terrified him and calmed him into knowing things would be, in whatever way, alright. The words were not spoken, but sung, and yet, not really. It was the first and one of the few times that Thranduil had experienced Erestor as the Vala he was and not as the Elda he appeared to be. From Erestor’s mouth in a voice that did not quite sound his own came these words:

I am his voice  
I have no choice  
I claim full responsibility

I am his hand  
Understand  
To talk to him – you talk to me

Erestor’s eyes, the entirety of them, were a brilliant blue now. It was an eerie thing to watch, but Thranduil could not seem to move, and Melian did not, either.

If you look into your mirror  
You’ll see a little clearer  
And reflect upon what I said

So don’t be upset  
When you finally regret  
The life that you have led

I warned you once or twice  
You haven’t been very nice  
You chose the path to take

You know what happens to this city  
Won’t be very pretty  
Now live with your mistake

Those were the words Thranduil heard, but there was something else there, another message underlying what his ears picked up. Melian replied in some way incomprehensible to Thranduil, and Erestor merely gave her a shrug of indifference to her determined look. Slowly, the color in his eyes faded, and when he blinked, they looked normal again. Still, no one moved.

As the door was not locked, there was no warning when it suddenly opened. Unexpectedly, Luthien entered, along with a half-dozen hand maidens, who all looked less than thrilled to be stepping foot into a dungeon. “Mother, we have come for Erestor.”

Letting go of his hold on Melian’s wrist, Erestor turned his attention to the young princess and her ladies-in-waiting. None of them could be anything over a hundred years, if that, with the exception of Luthien. She approached the cell, holding in her hand a large key that she fitted into the lock. “Father said that we could keep you to entertain us.”

Thranduil frowned and gave a disapproving look that was unseen by everyone, but Luthien further explained. “I have wanted a minstrel of my own for some time. He has Daeron; why should I not have one? I only get to have Daeron when father does not need him, which is not always when I want him. But he said that I may have you come and sing or play for us.” The door of the cell was opened.

“I regret to inform you, I shall not be playing any time soon.” Erestor held up his hands, showing the swollen, bruised wrists to the ladies, who fawned over his injury. “I also have duties in the library as well.”

“Father has released you as a scribe. He said he would write a recommendation for you if you were to decide to leave, or else you could stay here as my bard.” Luthien examined Erestor’s hands briefly. “You’ll heal fine in a few days. Until then, you have not lost your voice, have you?”


	13. Chapter 13

“Luthien’s kindness has been a blessing to you,” said Hisre as she served breakfast to the group assembled at Oropher’s home. It was customary now for Thranduil to bring his family for breakfast, and for Erestor to join them. On occasion, Thaladir made an appearance as well. Today was one of those times when all of Oropher’s ‘clan’, as he referred to them, were eating together.

Erestor dipped his half-eaten biscuit into a bowl of gravy leftover from the night before. “A blessing in keeping me out of jail, but I am of so little use. I will not let Thingol win this, though,” vowed Erestor. “He agreed to this because he knows how vexed I am to be made to follow his daughter and her ladies around like some sort of pet, and sing for them on their whims. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing my displeasure in it.”

“Poor Daeron,” commented Avisiel. “He is so lovesick over Luthien, and now he never has much of a chance to see her.”

“Is he really?” Erestor shook his head. “I had not noticed.”

Everyone agreed with this assessment, including Thaladir. “He watches her, follows her, compliments her at every chance. Listen to his songs – nearly all of them are truly about her.”

“Really?” Erestor dunked the last of his meal into the bowl and finished his breakfast. “How interesting,” he said to himself in a thoughtful voice.

“Take care of yourself, Erestor,” said Hisre as the dark-haired elf stood and picked up his fiddle from the desk. “And try not to do anything that might get you arrested again, please!” she called after him.

Thranduil smiled and kissed his wife before finishing his glass of juice. He patted Ilmendin’s head, tweaked Legolas’ nose, and assured his mother that no harm would come. “My turn to ‘keep an eye on Erestor’,” he explained. Thingol had assigned each of his middle-ranking officials to a day at more or less being a chaperone to both Erestor and his daughter, not that he expected the two of them to do anything together, but there were reasons he wished to watch each of them separately. Thranduil’s was the third day of the week every second week of the rotation, and he hurried to catch up to his charges.

\- - -

“Sing us another song. Sing us one we can dance to!” declared one of the curly-haired rosy-cheeked young ellith who had been sitting in the grass picnicking with Luthien.

Erestor cleared his throat and raised his instrument. One tune after another flowed from him, and just as the elven minstrels and their great gifts to project their thoughts upon their audience, Erestor filled the empty valley with color and light, and the young maids danced into the afternoon, until they tired. Each of them eventually found a soft spot to rest, and finally Luthien, the last to exhaust her energies, requested that Erestor sing to them peaceful songs, ballads and lullabies, until they were all lazily watching the clouds pass by while birds accompanied the low notes of the elf. Even Thranduil was feeling the effects, and had to fight to keep his eyes open.

Another elf passed by just as thoughts of returning to the caves for supper began to come to mind. It was Daeron, having been dismissed until the evening, and Thranduil observed him truly for the first time. He had always respected the bard, for he was more than a simple minstrel. Even in Valinor, Thranduil had yet to hear another who sang so sweetly, save the Valar themselves.

“Daeron, good day to you!” called out Erestor, causing Daeron to jump. Perhaps Erestor would believe now that everyone had indeed told the truth- Daeron’s eyes had been fixed upon Luthien, and he only first noticed the others who were there when he was called to. Meekly, Daeron raised a hand in greeting, and Thranduil returned the gesture. Erestor was bolder. “Come, sit with us a while,” he offered.

Luthien sat up in the grass, as did a number of the elven maids. “The sun is low in the sky- Daeron, you should be in the hall preparing to sing at the evening meal.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he answered with a dutiful nod, and quickly dismissed himself back to the entry of the cave.

Erestor frowned, and Thranduil did not take note soon enough to stop him. “Why did you dismiss him, Lady Luthien?” queried Erestor as he idly strummed the strings of his fiddle with his thumb. “Surely, the master musician needs no time to prepare to sing his songs.”

Luthien did not answer, choosing to gaze at the sunset. “There is a lovely mix of chestnut and gold on the horizon tonight,” she said to no one in particular.

Thranduil gave Erestor a warning look, but stubborn as he was, Erestor chose to ignore it. “Tomorrow, then. We can ask for Daeron to accompany us.”

With a heavy sigh, Luthien looked casually over her shoulder. “Lady Finduilas was right. You are a troublemaker.” She looked back to the sunset. “I find I now prefer silent solitude to the sounds of your music. You are dismissed, Erestor, and I have no further need of your services. Master Thranduil?” Thranduil stood and joined Luthien as she stood. “We wish to be escorted back inside.”

Giving Erestor a quick look, Thranduil led the ladies back to the entrance of the cave, being dismissed himself as they filed down the corridor to the dining hall. Thranduil returned to the yard, waiting for the rest of the residents whom had been outside to retire within the safety of the rock fortress for the night. Finally, the only two left were himself and the tall, dark elf who took his time meandering back.

“My list of references for any future employment is looking downright grim,” assessed Erestor as he joined Thranduil at the mouth of the cave. “Are you alright?” he asked upon noting the concerned look the younger elf wore.

“Luthien said something that has given me reason to pause.” Thranduil looked to the glow of the sun and the sliver of moon in the darkening sky. “She named Finduilas as the one who said you were a troublemaker.” Erestor nodded. “All this time, I have assumed it was either Gildor or Halmir who went to King Thingol about your heritage. But then, what would either of them gain, and what reason would they have for it?”

Erestor became entranced with the same thoughtful look. “If it was Finduilas, it makes more sense. She has spoken of marrying Gwindor; Gwindor is Guilin’s son. Guilin is one of Thingol’s chief ‘spies’, or at least, I believe he is.”

“She betrayed you.” Thranduil’s eyes were dark and angry. “She betrayed all of us.”

There was no disagreement from Erestor. “If it is true,” he reminded Thranduil.

“Then let us find out.” The blond elf secured the door for the night and with Erestor beside him set out to locate Lady Finduilas, the king’s appointed minister of education and only elleth on his council.

They found her sitting in an alcove near the soldiers’ barracks, sitting upon Gwindor’s knee while they laughed at some jokes being shared between a few of the lieutenants. Thranduil cleared his throat, disregarding whatever was being said.

The current lively tale being told came to an abrupt end. “M’lords, how can we be of service to you?” questioned Gwindor, still fair and full of energy despite his being on the training fields the better part of the day.

“I have a question to ask the Lady Finduilas in private,” requested Thranduil as calmly as he was able.

“Go on, then.” Gwindor nudged Finduilas forward so that she was forced to stand up or fall from his lap. “Hurry back, love,” he said, blowing her a kiss.

She gave him an uneasy smile in return, having no doubt noticed the look in Thranduil’s eyes. Still, she followed him around the corner. Erestor had stayed behind; it was silently agreed that it was too out of sorts to ask for a private audience and bring an extra elf with you. Thranduil came to the point right away. “Were you the one who told Thingol about Erestor?”

“Thranduil, I’m not sure what you’re-“

“Answer me, Finduilas. Did you tell Thingol that Erestor is a Noldo not of Finwe’s line?” demanded Thranduil.

“Not like that,” she said. “I- I may have said things that led him to believe-“

“Yes or no?” Thranduil growled.

Finduilas let her gaze wander to the floor. “Yes,” she said quietly. “But I did it for-“

“I care not why you did it. It sickens me no matter what.” Thranduil refused then to look upon her, and closing his eyes said, “I release you from the guardianship of my sons. If anything should happen to myself and my wife, I would much rather they be with Celeborn than with you.”

“Thranduil, please, just let me explain things!” begged Finduilas, but he did not hear her words as he walked back to where the group was sitting. Everyone must have heard the shout from the elleth, for Erestor was gave him a wary look upon his return, and Gwindor appeared quite concerned.

“Is she alright?” questioned Gwindor as Thranduil motioned for Erestor that they should leave.

“She will be fine,” Thranduil answered casually as Finduilas came around the corner.

Grabbing hold of his arm, Finduilas tried to plead with him one last time. “Thranduil, I did it because King Thingol is right; we can not trust anyone we do not know so well! No one really knows his heritage; no one knows his motives.”

Pulling her hands away from the grip she had on him was easy, and Thranduil gladly allowed Gwindor to draw Finduilas into his arms. “I know him very well; I trust him with my life. I let someone’s actions speak for them. He may be sly and stubborn, but at least he is no liar and no traitor.” It was the last time Thranduil and Finduilas would speak until her rebirth.

Walking down the corridor together, Erestor could not keep his thoughts to himself. “Thranduil, I am sorry about Finduilas, but I thank you for what you said.”

Thranduil slowed down, found an empty bench along one wall, and sunk down upon it. “Despite the fact I called you stubborn?”

“And sly, let us not forget that one. I like that one, though. Most of the time,” admitted Erestor, “I hear ‘Tis Erestor, he is stubborn and arrogant’.”

“Arrogant? No, I would not say that.” Thranduil motioned that Erestor should join him on the bench.

As Erestor sat, he said, “I would.”

“You are self-assured, confident, and knowing of your own worth,” corrected Thranduil as laughter was heard in the hallway coming towards them. He would have continued after waiting for whoever was passing by to be on their way, but it was his father and the king who turned the corner. Bewildered, Thranduil stood, in respect for both his father and the lord of the realm.

“Ah, Erestor! We were just talking about you,” announced Thingol in a jolly sort of voice.

“Were you?” questioned Erestor hesitantly. “And... I am to believe I was the topic of some amusement?”

“Oropher has explained everything to me,” Thingol said, giving him an assuring and downright friendly slap on the back. “Had I known in the beginning, this misunderstanding would never have occurred.”

“This... misunderstanding...” Erestor shifted his gaze to Oropher.

The philosopher gestured that it was all quite simple, really. “Once I explained to Thingol that your parents perished in Valinor, and that I adopted you, and that in all truth you are Sindar by name if not by blood, well, we had a glass of wine, a good laugh, and we even had the chance to burn those pesky decrees about you being in jail and all.”

“Oh... right...” Looking more confused than before, but left unnoticed for Thingol had perhaps had a little too much wine, Erestor floundered for words and found none.

“It was a hastily made decision to imprison you, but, one can never be too careful these days.” Thingol stopped as the bells rang for dinner. “Come, Oropher, sit with me at my table. Erestor- I must say, much good has come from this regardless,” called the king as he disappeared down the hallway. “The new scribe that replaced you is simply marvelous, and doesn’t speak a word of Quenya! Your talents are much better suited as a minstrel.”

Once Oropher and Thingol were well out of earshot, Erestor gave Thranduil a look of concern. “Did I just hear him right or was that a jest?”

“’Tis very unlikely it is a joke,” warned Thranduil. “And although it seems a perfect solution to what was an impossible situation, I fear my father will be quite happy to go along with this ruse. Including the fact, that he now has an actual claim for nagging you about things, and you will have less of a chance to easily escape when he starts to pester you.”

“Then now is likely not the best time to inform him that I have been dismissed and am currently unemployed and unemployable,” mused Erestor.

Thranduil shook his head. “No. Probably not.”

“When would be a good time?” Erestor asked.

“Well... ‘brother’...” said Thranduil, contemplating the question hard. “Probably... never.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I spoke with Guilin last night,” remarked Oropher. “He has a cousin who works in the kitchens, and they are in need of someone to wash dishes in the evenings.”

Erestor stopped eating his breakfast. “You want me to go and wash dishes?”

“The hours are decent. It would give you time to look for something else,” reasoned Oropher.

“Adar, Erestor is already employed; teaching Ilmendin,” Thranduil reminded his father, for Ilmendin had been removed from Lady Finduilas’s classes shortly after the revelation that she had been the one to tell Thingol of Erestor’s heritage.

“Teaching Ilmendin and doing Thaladir’s filing are ways for him to keep busy, but neither one is a real occupation,” stated Oropher. “I already took the liberty to speak with the head of the kitchen staff. You are expected to start this evening, so you will need to have supper as soon as the bell rings and report to the kitchens once you have finished.”

Erestor opened his mouth to argue, but Hisre made a shushing motion. Any argument against Oropher was as good as lost. After finishing his meal, Oropher left to meet his philosophy students in his office. As his plate was cleared away, Erestor slumped over the table. “I have nine hours to find a job. I am not going to wash dishes for a living.”

“He means well, dear,” said Hisre with a smile as she herself disappeared into the kitchen. Avisiel had stayed home with the children, as Ilmendin refused to wake up on time for breakfast at his grandparent’s house. Their home was now also Erestor’s home, for as he was no longer in the employ of the king or his family, he lost his privileges to the quarters he had once had. Consequently, he had been welcomed into Oropher’s home, and now occupied the room that Thranduil once had.

Thranduil gave Erestor an encouraging smile. “If anyone can do it, big brother, you can.” Having not had siblings, Thranduil had used every opportunity to refer to Erestor as his elder brother, leaving out the part about him having been adopted and yet not really. In return, Erestor came to call often at his ‘little brother’s’ house, and doted upon his nephews as any uncle should, for Erestor had also been an only child in Valinor.

“Wish me luck, little brother. I hope to return employed, and without dishpan hands,” joked Erestor as he stood up to leave, sounding confident, yet looking anything but. Thranduil continued to smile until Erestor was out the door.

“Nana, why does Adar not recommend Erestor for some sort of teaching post?” suggested Thranduil. “He would be excellent as a teacher. Thaladir said that he taught him privately, and he had done more with Ilmendin these past weeks than Finduilas did over the last four years.”

Hisre exited the kitchen, still wearing her apron. “Thranduil, he would if it would work, but it never would.”

“Why not? Surely, they must have an opening for something,” said Thranduil.

“They do have openings, but Erestor does not have the necessary skills.”

“What? That’s rubbish!” argued Thranduil. “How can you say that?”

Sitting down beside her son, Hisre explained to him. “Erestor knows a lot of practical things, and yes, he has a lot of basic knowledge. He can teach young students, but there are never openings for that. Everyone wants their young ones taught by ellith, so that they are properly nurtured. No one wants an ellon teaching their child.”

“Well... I have no problem with it,” blurted out Thranduil.

“You are in the minority, then. I admit, I would not have been pleased to have had you schooled by an ellon when you were younger,” said Hisre.

Thranduil huffed. “Fine. What of the advanced classes?”

“Erestor has the mathematical abilities of an elfling. He is slow to read, and his Sindarin is very choppy, both in writing and speech.”

“But he is brilliant! Does no one see that?” Thranduil sighed and leaned on the table. “I wish someone would.”

“I think someone already does,” said Hisre, and she stood up and kissed Thranduil’s cheek. “Better get off to work or you’ll be late.”

\- - -

The day overall was very uneventful. Thranduil spent it at his desk doing the usual transcription work and trying to think of something, other than dishwashing, that Erestor would excel at. Not once did he see the dark elf, and he hoped that he had indeed found some sort of job somewhere in Doriath.

On his way to the dining hall, more curious as to whether he would find Erestor in the kitchens than because he was hungry, he passed a beautiful elleth in the hall, excusing himself at first, and then stopping when he realized who it was.

“Artanis?” Thranduil blinked when the elleth turned around. “Artanis! What are you doing here?”

“Gracious me, no one calls me that anymore!” Laughing, she said, “Call me Alatariel- or Galadriel, I rather prefer that name now.”

“What are you doing here? How are you? I had no idea you were, well, if you had made it or not!” Thranduil’s thoughts were jumbled as he approached the maiden with silver-gold hair. “Galadriel, now, is it?”

“Yes, please. As per the dashing young lord Celeborn- do you know, is he...?” Galadriel raised her brows in askance.

Thranduil was about to answer in the affirmative, when it hit him as to who she should really be inquiring about. “Does Erestor know you are here?”

Galadriel turned away harshly. “Aye. He saw me but an hour ago; he would not speak to me.”

“Really?” Thranduil tried to imagine why, but gave up quickly. “When did you arrive and how long do you plan to stay?”

“Just this morning, and surely, I know not. I felt drawn here, I wished to visit, and so I came.” She laughed gaily. “Isn’t the freedom of this Middle-earth grand?”

Thranduil found he could not answer that question in the way she would have expected, and so he smiled, and saw that, while he had changed in the years since they had seen one another, so had he. Instead he asked, “Have you been in contact with Ecthelion?”

Casting a look to the floor, Galadriel said, “He and I have not spoken since the crossing. We both went in opposite directions; I with my brothers and he with a handful of like warriors. I have not seen him since.”

“Ah, well. At least he made it across,” concluded Thranduil.

“Speaking of that, what caused you to cross the sea?” Galadriel’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Was the thought of such a boring life in Valinor too much for you as well?”

“Well... no. Erestor said he had a reason for returning, and I came along with a few others.” Thranduil felt a little uneasy about revealing this. “Where did you see Erestor, if you do not mind my asking?”

“On the stairway behind the main hall. I... spoke to him, but he did not speak in return.”

Thranduil held her gaze for a minute or two, until she shied away. “What did you say?” he inquired. Galadriel remained silent, he lips pressed together. “Tell me what you said to him!”

“Does it matter that much? My words were for his ears, not yours,” answered Galadriel sternly. “It matters little; he is leaving now.”

“Leaving? Leaving for where? When?” A sick feeling washed over Thranduil. “What did you say, elleth?”

Galadriel’s eyes darkened. “Do not address me like some commoner. I am a noble, and will not be talked down to by... you.”

“Or by Erestor, I imagine. I still wonder just what he ever saw in you,” Thranduil sneered. “You are a wicked one, Artanis.”

“Do not call me that,” she warned with a glare.

Thranduil stared back for a moment. “You can call yourself what you like, but you will always be Artanis. You will always be Nerwen. You will always be that nasty little girl who deserved a dead mouse down the back of her dress.”

“And you will always be a peasant, the boy in the mud who could never hope to achieve what I will,” she answered.

Thranduil stepped close, much closer than he would have intruded upon a lady’s space, but in his eyes, she never quite was a lady. “At least I can say that I never killed anyone to get where I am.” Turning away from her, he headed down the hallway to his parents’ home.

\- - -

“What is all this?” demanded Thranduil when he arrived at the entrance. Guilin and two guards stood in the hall, and the door was wide open.

“Orders of the King,” replied Guilin, words that were coming more and more frequently heard by Thranduil. “He has given Erestor until noonday tomorrow to leave. We are simply here to make sure he does not make contact with King Thingol’s niece.”

“Who would knowingly make contact with her?” Thranduil blurted out, and then clenched his teeth, but apparently the guards weren’t all that interested in protecting Galadriel’s name from slanderous remarks. “Just what is going on? Has Erestor been banished?”

“Erestor went to Thingol this morning for references, which he was gladly given,” began Thaladir from the doorway. He was just stepping out into the hall, and continued to explain. “There were no openings anywhere in the court, but there were a few private postings for a personal scribe or some such thing as that. Erestor had plans to apply for these, but then, something seems to have happened on the stairway as he was going to the main hall. I know not what exactly, but he is now packing to leave. The king has ordered banishment.”

“What? Ridiculous!” spat Thranduil. “There is no reason that-“

“Thranduil!” At the door now stood his father, and Thranduil shut his mouth. “Come inside,” Oropher directed. Thranduil did as told, and heard Thaladir shut the door behind him. “Thranduil, you are going to have as difficult a time with this as I am,” said his father, “but in part, this was Erestor’s choice.”

“But why-“

“Erestor,” stated Oropher, a little louder to stop Thranduil from interrupting, “was confronted by Thingol. When Artanis was admitted into the city, she was very careful not to answer many of the questions Melian answered her directly. She and Erestor had some sort of run-in on the stairs, and King Thingol witnessed a very distraught Erestor leaving Artanis there. Neither of them will tell him what happened, and so, he is sending Erestor away.”

“Still- banishment?” questioned Thranduil.

Oropher grimaced. “While Artanis simply refused to answer, Erestor said a few things to Thingol which he had wanted to tell him for some time that were probably best left unsaid.”

“Worse than ‘You are not my king’?” Thranduil frowned deeply when his father nodded. “He has such a temper sometimes,” he whispered.

“The fiery Noldorin spirit,” offered Thaladir from the doorway.

Thranduil looked to the entry that led into his old room. The curtain that covered the door was slid party back, and a light came from the room. “May I speak with him?” Oropher nodded and patted his son’s shoulder, then went to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink.

Erestor was sitting on the bed with a small bundle of items beside him. His eyes were red, but other than that, there were no signs he had been crying. Thranduil came and sat on the other side of Erestor, folding his hands in his lap.

“Adar told me what happened. I wish you were not leaving, but I think you have wanted to go for some time. You just needed to wait for her to get here, I think.” Thranduil looked to Erestor, who said nothing but cast his gaze to the floor. “I wish you would not continue to protect her. You can not cover up what she did forever.”

“Thranduil,” began Erestor, “my brother,” he added affectionately, placing his arm around the younger elf’s shoulder, “You will learn someday that you will do everything within your power to protect those whom you love, even if it means losing them, for a time, or forever.”

Thranduil let out an uneasy breath. “You still love her, then.” He saw the tears well up in Erestor’s eyes once more.

“I will always love her.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Singme, Resser, singme singme,” begged Legolas, his tiny fists gripping the delicate braids Avisiel had woven to keep Erestor’s hair from being unruly during his long journey. Holding the babe for one last time, Erestor managed to sing his favorite lullaby to him as the winds from the west began to pick up and blow at them with bitter cold.

 

Run with me through the greenest grass  
Tumble into the depths of the bluest sea  
Look up and see the silver stars  
As golden flowers caress our feet  
Past the purple mountains far  
Over ginger fields that smell sweet  
A land awaits you, little star  
Found only in your sleep

“Againnow?” Legolas’ bottom lip trembled, for though so young, he must have known the answer.

“No againnow, little leaf.” Erestor swallowed hard and handed the tearful elfling back to his mother. He himself looked quite forlorn, and he hesitated as he gave the mouth of the caves one final look. Standing in the shadows of the entrance was Thingol, glaring at them. Thranduil took a closer look, and shook his head when he noted the long sword strapped to the king’s side, hand on the hilt.

One by one, Erestor said his final farewells to his family and friends, with very few words exchanged. He would write when he reached wherever he was going, wherever that ended up being. Avisiel placed Legolas down on the ground beside his brother to hug Erestor tightest of all of them. The old elf then bent down, kissing each of the elflings affectionately and saying some small blessing over each of them. Legolas whined when his attempts to be picked up again were thwarted when Erestor stepped away. “Well. Until we meet again,” he said at last, and walked backwards to the dogs that awaited him. He looked at the group again, then climbed into the small sled and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to hide his profile. There was very little tied to the back of the sleigh, so when he cracked the whip, the dogs pulling it began to run at an incredible speed.

Nothing was said as he rode out of their sight, until he was far enough not to hear it. “I hope you are happy with what you have done,” shouted Oropher, loud enough for his words to reach Thingol. “You have just lost the most powerful ally you had in Doriath!”

Thingol gave him a look of disbelief, and then began to laugh. “Erestor? A powerful... ally? Surely, Oropher...” The king continued to laugh at what he seemed to believe a terribly funny joke.

Turning to look back down the road, Oropher quietly remarked, “I did not mean Erestor. Come, Thranduil, Thaladir, we have things to attend to.” Oropher clasped each of them upon a shoulder. “I have-“ His abrupt stop was prompted by the sight of his youngest grandchild, who had lifted himself up onto his feet, and was tottering uneasily in the direction of the sled tracks in the snow.

“Resser?” Legolas fell forward, catching himself from falling completely with his hands out in front of him. He righted himself and made it a few more steps before swaying on his tiny legs. “Resser?” he called a little louder.

No one seemed able to move. The ellith stood, clutching tearstained cloths, watching him as they both cried silently. The ellyn watched the elfling call in vain for his favorite lullaby singer and bedtime story teller. Not even Thingol budged from his spot. Finally, as Legolas’ shouts became punctuated with panicked sobs, it was Ilmendin who came forward.

The slightly older elfling wrapped his arms around his brother, halting him from any more clumsy steps. While captured in the bear hug, Legolas called out once more for his lost friend. “Erestor’s gone, Legolas. He went away.”

“Resser’s coming back,” Legolas stated with conviction, but Ilmendin shook his head.

“Erestor’s not coming back,” he whispered. When Legolas started to wail, Ilmendin hugged his brother with one arm and patted his head with his free hand.

Unnoticed by the others, Thingol had decided to approach. “Now, now, young one,” he said, walking past the adults and coming to stand before the elflings, “there is no need for you to cry over this. Erestor was not a trustworthy elf. He did things that were very bad.”

Thranduil’s fists began to ball up, but his wife took hold of one hand, threading her fingers with his, and gave him a pleading look. He shoved his fist in his pocket, and tried with great difficulty not to glare.

“I sent Erestor away to protect everyone here, just like your father keeps bad things away from you to keep you safe. Now, tell me, doesn’t that make you feel better?” asked Thingol.

Legolas was still sniffling, but through his tears he looked up to see Thingol and his false smile. Although not the most graceful move, nor the most polite, Thranduil long considered what happened next to be one of the proudest memories he had regarding his son.

“Aiya! Little beast! Get him off of me!” roared Thingol as Legolas now wrapped his legs around Thingol’s one and bit him again. In the commotion, Thaladir and Oropher knocked their heads together, Ilmendin began to cry, and Avisiel managed to wrestle her son off of Thingol before the king flung him off. “Disgraceful,” he growled at them, sneering at Legolas. He limped back to the caves, trying to retain some amount of dignity.


	16. Chapter 16

“We have so few coming with us,” commented Thranduil as he looked through the list of those who had decided to travel with the party that was leaving Doriath. Although he had thought it would be wiser not to say anything and to disappear under cover of night, his father had argued that they still may need Doriath as an ally, and that Thingol would be only too happy to be rid of them.

Oropher had been, as he almost always was, absolutely right. For his years of service, he had even managed to secure their provisions as well as a few sleds with dogs and two fine horses, one of which was Thaladir’s war horse, since the captain would be coming with them. Though Thingol was upset to see one of his best fighters go, of all of his captains, it was sometimes mentioned that Thaladir would have the best chance to start an uprising. Nevermind that the rumors had no facts to back them up (or that it was actually Oropher who had started the rumor in the first place), Thingol was wary of the warrior, and did not put up so much of a fight in letting him go.

Daeron was another story. Thingol had agreed at first, but later withdrew, stating that Daeron had always been in his service, even as a young lad, and denied him leave to go. As for the minstrel himself, he had been torn since the beginning – the prospect of a home with more freedom and less disrespect from its ruler enticed him, but it was Luthien who kept him in Doriath.

Celeborn was asked, but rejected the proposal. He had reason to stay, and even married her before the departure of Oropher’s group of travelers, for he wished Thranduil to serve as future guardian to his children should there ever be a need for it. Unexpectedly, they added one member to their party the very morning they set out for whatever land they were going to.

“Does anyone know if there is extra rope to spare?” inquired Thranduil at the general supplier. “Two of the dogs chewed through their harnesses overnight- I swear, tis almost as if we have been given the most undesirable animals,” he mused a bit sarcastically. “I must secure them to the sled again.”

“Rope? Hmm. Galion would know, alas, for he is not here,” smirked the ellon at the counter.

Among the many in Thingol’s service, none was treated more harshly than Galion. He had been an orphan, just as Daeron had been, but an orphan without a silken voice or fingers that could dance upon the harp. His fate had been to be Thingol’s butler, and as such he was also given every small task no one else wanted.

He was dutiful, though, and never did he question or contemplate what he was asked to do. It was a surprise then for Thranduil to further question and learn that Galion had ended up imprisoned in the dungeons.

“Galion slipped and answered his majesty in that old language he hates,” said one of the guards at the supplier. “Stupid ellon just said it without thinking- as it turns out, it was Erestor who was teaching him. Never liked that one, either,” muttered the guard.

Had Galion been left in Doriath, there was no doubt Thingol would have eventually let him out of his cell, and that Galion would have continued being just as loyal as he had always been. Even after ages of service to Oropher and later to Thranduil, Galion still spoke fondly of his previous employer in Doriath. Not that life in Greenwood would prove unkind to him – the fact was that his life had been extremely terrible before Thingol had found him.

It was easier than expected to get Thingol to release Galion from his service. Knowing it was an insult to offer nothing, Oropher went to the king with a pouch of jewels that had been carefully polished in Valinor. It had been expected that they would use them if needed along their journey, but Thaladir was the first to point out that the life and freedom of one elf was worth more than whatever else the jems could buy.

\- - -

“Can I get you something, sir? Something to eat, perhaps?”

“Galion, I am fine. We are barely four hours into our journey,” Oropher reminded him. “Why not sit down on one of the sleds and leave the dogs the work of carrying you for a bit?”

Bowing his head, Galion replied, “Oh, no, sir. I am quite content carrying myself, sir. I enjoy the walk, sir.”

“Galion, can you do me a favor?” inquired Thranduil.

“Oh, by all means, sir. What do you wish of me?” asked Galion.

“Please, for the love of Eru, stop calling me sir.”

“Oh, indeed, my lord. So sorry for that, my lord. I shall try to do better.” Galion slowed his steps a bit so that he was a few paces behind the horses that led the party.

Thranduil could not help but smile at the pleading look his father gave to the heavens. It was something that would take his father a bit of getting used to, but it was decided from the onset that he would be the leader of their group. When they found their home, it would be Oropher whom they would crown as their king. Their numbers were few- only about four dozen. It was Hisre who reminded them that the Vanyar started with a mere fourteen elves, and that they flourished now in Aman.

Their first stop for food and rest was in a forest clearing that would be easy to guard and was well-protected by large pines encircling it. A freshwater stream ran through, and there were bushes covered in ripe berries despite the light snow that covered the ground. “It is if the Valar are guiding our way, keeping us safe and well,” remarked one of the ellin who had traveled with them, a young scribe who felt Erestor had been greatly wronged by Thingol.

Erestor. Thranduil found his mind wandering as they continued on their trek, wondering what had happened to his dear friend. He left no clue as to where he might go, and no word came from him in the years that passed while Thranduil remained in Doriath.

“Thranduil, I think your dogs are fighting a losing battle,” spoke Thaladir from his horse. Below and behind him, Thranduil was driving the team of dogs on the largest of the sleds, the one carrying the heavier items and most of their provisions. His daydreaming had caused him distraction, and he had not taken note that he was falling behind.

“Poor things. I know what it is, too.” Pulling on the ropes, Thranduil halted the sled. Opening up a sack behind him, he hoisted up a large, multi-faceted item that looked like an enormous gem. It was, in fact, simply glass, just the arken that he used to decipher the tiny scrawls of writing that were sent on occasion by Turgon or Aegnor or others with such delicate writing.

Tugging his reigns around, Oropher laughed when he doubled back and saw what Thranduil was holding. “What were you going to do with that?”

“I really do not know,” Thranduil admitted. “Thingol was demanding it the last time I stopped in the library.”

“Ah, so you ‘borrowed’ it, then,” stated Oropher with a grin that told Thranduil that he found it amusing. “It isn’t anything they cannot replace, but leave it here. Your dogs have suffered enough.”

Tossing it into the snow, Thranduil snapped the whip above the furry dogs and onward they went.

No one took note of Galion, who trudged slowly, dropping further and further from the group. He scooped the arken up without a sound or a word and stowed it in his own sack, hefting the stone over his shoulder- but that is a story for another time.

“Singme, Adar,” begged Legolas when they next found a place to rest for the night. Thranduil was leaning against a tree, with Avisiel beside him. Ilmendin was curled up in her lap, fast asleep, while Legolas, old enough to walk and talk properly, sucked on his thumb and cuddled against his father.

Had the journey not been so long and trying for them all, Thranduil might have proposed that Legolas ask him properly for a song. Instead, Thranduil held his youngest son close and proceeded to lull him to sleep with a song he himself had written. It was a love song, not at all like the mournful songs of lost love that Erestor wrote and sang, or the hopeful lyrics that came from Daeron’s lips. These were promising and determined, speaking of a true love shared and of devotion no one could challenge. Thranduil sang to his son, but his eyes strayed to his wife as he sang:

 

For You, I’ll Cross the Sea  
I’ll Light the Stars, Across the Sky  
For You, I’ll Find the Words  
I’ll Love you True, I’d Surely Die

For You, I’ll Cross the Sea  
I’ll Bring you Home, I’ll Find a Way  
For You, I’ll Bind our Souls  
I’ll Keep you Safe, I’ll Always Stay

 

The four of them rested peacefully in the calm of the night, two little elflings slumbering while their parents kept watch over them and over the others who had come so far with promises of nothing but freedom and hope. They had nothing, and yet they had so much. Reflecting on the decisions they had made, Thranduil concluded that no silver nor jewels could buy the happiness he felt to have his family with him, and that indeed, he would do everything within his power for those that he loved. He in fact had, long before he knew Avisiel, and long before he could have guessed he would ever know Ilmendin and Legolas as his sons.

For them, he had left Valinor, and he would gladly do it again. “For you, I crossed the sea,” he whispered to his wife, snuggled against him and deep in a state of reverie. He kissed her cheek, and then he, too, slipped into a state of rest, letting his mind wander to dream of a land he once called home, a land that would never again be home without his family there with him.


End file.
